
Class 1 

Book_ 






LAYS OF ALMA, 



5to o%r f «$♦ 



BY JULIA TILT, 

AUTHORESS OF "HISTORICAL BALLADS," ^ ARUNDEL CASTLE," 
" LAURA TALBOT," ETC. ETC 







LONDON: 
L. BOOTH, 307 REGENT STREET, 

1856. 






LONDON : 
Printed by G. Barclay, Castle St. Leicester S 



LIEUTENANT-GENERAL 

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OE CAMBRIDGE, 
©Ins $aak 

is, 

BY SPECIAL PERMISSION, 

MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 

BY 

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS'S 

MOST GRATEFUL AND MOST OBLIGED SERVANT, 

JULIA TILT, 



LIST OF- SUBSCRIBERS. 



Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Gloucester. 

Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Cambridge. 

His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge. 

£ 
Her Grace the Duchess of Norfolk 
Her Grace the Duchess of Bedford 
Her Grace the Duchess of Cleveland 
The Most Noble the Marchioness of Abercorn 
The Most Noble the Marchioness of Ely . . 
The Most Noble the Marchioness Dowager of Ely 
The Countess of Shaftesbury 
The Countess of Lanesborough 
The Countess of Harrowby . . 
The Countess of Clarendon . . 
The Countess of Darnley 
The Countess of Arundel and Surrey 
The Viscountess Palmerston 
The Viscountess Lovaine 
The Viscountess Canning 
Charlotte Lady Suffield 
The Baroness De Rothschild 
The Baroness North 
The Lady De Rothschild . . 
The Lady Wharncliffe 
The Lady Foley 
The Lady Adeliza Manners 
The Lady Henrietta Morant 
The Hon. Lady Middleton . . 



.. 11 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





y 1 





.. 1 1 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 1 1 





.. 1 1 





.. 10 





.. 10 





..2 2 





.. 1 1 





..2 2 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 






LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



The Lady Anna Maria Cust 

The Lady Charlotte Sturt 

The Lady Susan Smith 

The Lady Eastlake . . 

The Hon. Charlotte Somerset 

Mrs. Montefiore 

Mrs. Maclachlan 

Mrs. Hunt 

Mrs. Charles Egerton 

Mrs. Cadbury 

Miss Whittingham . . 

Mrs. Hawtrey, Windsor 

Mrs. Mintorn, ditto 

Mrs. Girding, ditto 

Mrs. Frowd, ditto 

Mrs. Benjamin Ellam 

Mrs. Foster 

His Grace the Duke of Wellington 

The Most Noble the Marquis of Breadalbane 

Major-General the Earl of Cardigan 

The Earl of Zetland . . 

The Earl of Yarborough 

The Earl of Carnarvon 

The Lord Panmure . . 

The Lord Leigh 

The Viscount Burghersh 

Sir Charles Burrell . . 

Lieutenant- General Sir Adolphus Dalrympli 

Major-General Sir Edward Cust 

Sir William C. Ross 

Sir Thomas Troubridge 

Sir Charles Decimus Crossley 

Major-General Yorke 

Major-General Freeth 

General Kenale 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 











£ s. 


The Hon. Colonel Gordon . . 






. 10 


The Hon. Colonel North, M.P. . 






1 1 


Colonel Wilson 






. 10 


Colonel Lindsay- 






. 10 


Colonel Brownlow Knox 






. 1 1 


Major Reynolds 






. 10 


Captain Sayer 






. 10 


The Hon. William Cowper . . 






. 10 


The Right Hon. the Lord Mayor . 






. 1 1 


Wilbraham Egerton, Esq. . . 






. 1 1 


R. G. Hennell, Esq. 






. 10 


C. Nicholson, Esq. 






. 10 


J. Boyd, Esq. 






. 10 


J. J. Welch, Esq 






1 1 


W. Buckmaster, Esq. 






. 10 


Robert Addams, Esq. 






. 10 


T. H. Crampton, Esq. 






. 1 1 


E. Saunders, Esq. . 








. 10 


T. Coath, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Bradbury, jun. Esq 








. 1 1 


F. Turner, Esq. 








. 1 1 


F. Tyars, Esq. 








. 10 


W. Williams, Esq. . 








. 10 


C. Locock, Esq. M.D 








. 1 


F. Bennoch, Esq. 








10 


E. Weston, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Davies, Esq. 








. 10 


B. W. Clegg, Esq. . 








. 10 


J. Robins, Esq. 








. 10 


E. Hunter, Esq. 








. 10 


T. Clowes, Esq. 








. 1 1 


G. Downing, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Dann, Esq. 








. 10 


W. L. Hanley, Esq. 






. 10 


W. H. P. Sadgrove, Esq. . . 






. 10 


J. R. Carr, Esq. 








. 10 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



T. Peil, Esq 

G. Blaylock, Esq. . . 
J. Rowbotham, Esq. 
J. J. Foot, Esq. 
W. Wilson, Esq. 
W. B. Grahame, Esq. 
G. Brooks, Esq. 
— Morgan, Esq. 
J. E. Evans, Esq. 
Dr. Lever 
E. Cock, Esq. 
T. S. Gainsford, Esq. 
R. S. Graham, Esq. . . 
J. R. Casey, Esq. 
W. H. Foley, Esq. . . 
J. Barnes, Esq. 

A. L. Bellinger, Esq. 

E. Moss, Esq. 

J. Bell, Esq 

T. H. Hills, Esq. . . 
W. Goodson, Esq. . . 
Farmer and Rogers . . 

F. Rolt, Esq. 

B. G. Babington, Esq. M.D 
W. Liddiard, Esq. . . 
J. Burgess, Esq. 
J. Batty, Esq. 
R. Quain, Esq. 
F. Davis, Esq. 
F. Bird, Esq. M.D. . . 
Dr. Laurie 
Erasmus Wilson, Esq. 

C. Law, Esq. 
W. Fergusson, Esq. . . 
W. C. Jay, Esq. 
F. Stocken, Esq. 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 











£ s. 


G. N. Epps, Esq. . . 






.. 10 


J. F. Fearon, Esq. . . 








. 10 


W. Simpson, Esq. 








. 1 1 


W.Jones, Esq. M.D. 








. 10 


G. Trower, Esq. 








. 10 


B. Field, Esq. 








. 10 


H. Rigge, Esq. 








. 10 


A. Jones, Esq. 








. 10 


F. Tothill, Esq. 








. 10 


T. Lambert, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Kinnerley, Esq. .. 








. 10 


W. T. Robinson, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Morris, Esq. 








. 10 


G. Brown, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Shoolbred, Esq. . . 








. 10 


R. Laurie, Esq. 








. 10 


G. Parbury, Esq. 








. 10 


W. Thacker, Esq. . . 








. 10 


H. Pepys, Esq. 








. 10 


W. Hitchcock, Esq. . . 








. 10 


G. L. Turney, Esq. . . 








. 10 


J. L. Sharpe, Esq. . . 








. 10 


E.Ede, Esq 








. 10 


W. Hunter, Esq. 








. 10 


Hull Turrell, Esq. . . 








. 10 


J. Scannel, Esq. 








..3 3 


J. A. Joseph, Esq. . . 








. 10 


J. Dawson, Esq. 








. 10 


C. G. Guthrie, Esq. . . 








. 10 


T. Lemale, Esq. 








. 1 1 


J. Vanner, Esq. 








.. 10 


J. Churchill, Esq. . . 








.. 10 


H. Williams, Esq. . . 








.. 10 


R. J. Brooks, Esq. . . 








.. 10 


D. Lambert, Esq. 








.. 10 


Dr. Ramskill . . 








.. 10 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



T. Abrahams, Esq. 
The Dean of Windsor 
The Mayor of Windsor 
H. Brown, Esq. ditto 

Major Moore ditto 

T. Cleave, Esq. ditto 

J. Cooper, Esq. ditto 

W. Boddy, Esq. ditto 

J. Cocum, Esq. ditto 

T. Batcheldor, Esq. ditto 
The Rev. Mr. Canning ditto 
Lieut. C. Oakes, R.N. ditto 
J. Bedborough, Esq. ditto 
W. Hanson, Esq. ditto 

— Snowden, Esq. ditto 

R. Blunt, Esq. ditto 

C. Philips, Esq. ditto 

J. Ingram, Esq. Frogmore 
H. Darvill, Esq. Windsor 
T. A. Solly, Esq. ditto 
J. Johnson, Esq. ditto 
H. Ingalton, Esq. Eton 
T. W. Nason, Esq. ditto 
The Rev. G. O. Goodford, D 
Rev. E. Coleridge 
Rev. W. A. Carter . . 
Rev. F. E. Durnford 
Rev. J. E. Younge . . 
Rev. F. Vidal 
F. Schonested, Esq. Eton 
W. Birch, Esq. Eton College 
Rev. W. B. Marriot ditto 
Rev. A. G. Frewer ditto 
Rev. W. L. Hardisty ditto 
Rev. C. C. James ditto 
J. Hunt, Esq. 



D. Eton College 
ditto 
ditto 
ditto 
ditto 
ditto 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 











£ s. 


W. Sabine, Esq. jun. 






.. 10 


J. J. Ronaldson, Esq. 








.. 10 


T. Lambert, Esq. 








.. 10 


W. Bevan, Esq. 








10 


C. Landseer, Esq. 








.. 10 


A. W. Hewlett, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Hawke, Esq. 








. 10 


E. Spooner, Esq. 








.. 10 


W. Wentworth Davis, Esq.. 








. 10 


T. E. Davis, Esq. . . 








. 10 


J. P. Jones, Esq. 








. 10 


S. Solomons, Esq. . . 








. 10 


J. Fletcber, Esq. 








. 10 


T. Woolley, Esq. 








. 10 


G. Maybew, Esq. 








. 10 


W. H. Olley, Esq. . . . 








. 10 


F. H. Courthope, Esq. 








. 10 


C. Garland, Esq. 








. 10 


H. K. Smithers, Esq. 








. 10 


J. W. Evans, Esq. . . 








. 10 


A. Levy, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Copestake, Esq. . . 








. 10 


R. Roberts, Esq. 








. 10 


J. W. Burdon, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Green, Esq. 








. 10 


R. Crickitt, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Spinks, Esq. 








. 10 


H. Bathurst, Esq. .. 








. 10 


J. Bamford, Esq. 








. 10 


H. Duprey, Esq. 








. 10 


J. Franks, Esq. 








. 10 


R. Woolat, Esq. 








. 10 


W. Emslie, Esq. 








. 10 


B. Wood, Esq. 








. 10 


Alderman Sidney 








. 10 


J. Cochrane, Esq. 








. 10 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



R.A. 



H. Wood, Esq. 

N. P. Dodge, Esq. 

P. G. Greville, Esq. 

M. J. Hyams, Esq. 

G. Leach, Esq. 

J. P. Knight, Esq., 

S. Nohle, Esq. 

J. M'Donald, Esq. 

A. Hill, Esq. 

J. Nottidge, Esq. 

Geo. Grant, Esq. 

C. Williams, Esq. . . 

H. Harris, Esq. 

S. Garrad, Esq. 

W. H.Smith, Esq. .. 

F. H. Lee, Esq., R.A. 

C. Edwards, Esq. 
H. Crosse, Esq. 
F. Stephens, Esq. 

J. W. Whitelock, Esq. 
P. Leno, Esq. 
J. Stanley, Esq. 
N. Bryant, Esq. 

F. Gosset, Esq. 

J. A. L. Barnard, Esq. 

D. W. Dowling, Esq. 
J. Barber, Esq. 

J. Howell, Esq. 

W. Osborne, Esq. . . 

C. Thompson, Esq. . . 

G. F. Routledge, Esq. 
F. Devas, Esq. 

W. Greames, Esq. . . 
C. F. Huth, Esq. . . 
H. Caldecott, Esq. .. 
J. Brunton, Esq. 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Xlll 

£ s. d. 

C. Wilson, Esq 10 

D. Chapman, Esq., jun. .. ... .. ..220 

William- L. Leaf, Esq 110 

C. Leaf, Esq. 10 

F. H. Leaf, Esq 10 

S. Willoughby, Esq 10 

D. Maclntyre, Esq. 10 

J. Willcox, Esq. . . . . . . . . ..0100 

R. Kynaston, Esq. . . . . . . . . . . 10 

E. Caldecott, Esq. . . . . 10 

R. Hocking, Esq. . . . . . . ! . ..0100 

A. Caldecott, Esq. .. 10 

J. Mair, Esq. .. 10 

J. Powell, Esq., jun. 10 

N. Hawtrey, Esq., jun. .. .. .. . . 10 

S. Bevington, Esq . . . . ..0100 

J. B. Balcombe, Esq. . . . . . . ..0100 

F. Warner, Esq. . . 10 

E. H. Browne, Esq. 10 

H. Druitt, Esq. . . 10 

G. A. Oxbourgh, Esq 10 

J. Nelson, Esq . . . . 10 

H. Dearsley, Esq 10 

A. Schroder, Esq. .. .. 10 

Ullman, Hirschhorn, & Co. 10 

Albert Cohen, Esq . . . . 10 

F. Ledger, Esq. .. .. 10 

H. Poole, Esq. . . 10 

G. Brown, Esq. . . 10 

J. R. Maynard, Esq. 10 

F. Russel, Esq 10 

G. Mobbs, Esq 10 

J. Wild, Esq. 10 

J. A. Joseph, Esq. . . . . 10 

W. Heriot, Esq 10 

G. Hutchinson, Esq. .. .. .. o 10 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



J. Muggridge, Esq. . . 
F. W. Stein, Esq. . . 
W. Blacker, Esq. 
F. J. Hamel, Esq. . . 
J. O. Dowd, Esq. .. 
C. Sweating, Esq. 

E. Byrne, Esq. 
Dr. Pettigrew 
S. Lane, Esq. 
W. Arnold, Esq. 
W. King, Esq. 
J. Fenton, Esq. 
W. Groves, Esq. 
John Rogers, Esq. 

H. Thornton, Esq. . . 
J. Hickie, Esq. 
J. Dalton, Esq. 

F. B. Adams, Esq. . . 

F. Young, Esq. 
C. Penny, Esq. 

G. Batty, Esq. 

W. D. Starling, Esq. 

The Hon. Sophia Aylmer 

M. Henry, Esq. 

W. J. Hudson, Esq. 

C. Clarkson, Esq. 

J. Scurlock, Esq. 

— Thackeray, Esq. . . 



£ s. 
.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





10 





10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





. . 10 





.. 10 





.. 10 





. . 10 





. . 10 





.. 10 






CONTENTS. 



f ap af gJma. 



Lines addressed to the Guards on their departure for 

Constantinople, February 22d, 1854 . . . . 1 

Lines on hearing of the Battle of the Alma, Sept. 28th, 1854 3 

The Light Cavalry Charge at Balaklava, Oct. 28th, 1854 4 
Lines on the Death of Sir George Cathcart, who fell at 

Inkermann, Nov. 5th, 1854 . . . . . . . . 9 

The Battle of Inkermann, Nov. 5th, 1854 . . . . 11 

A Requiem on the Funeral of Field- Marshal Lord Raglan, 

written on its arrival at Bristol, July 25th, 1855 . . 15 

The Fall of Sebastopol 17 

The Night Attack of the Rocket-boats on Sweaborg . . 20 

The Battle of the Alma 22 

A Requiem for the Brave who fell at Inkermann, Nov. 

5th, 1854 25 

The Hospital at Scutari . . . . . . . . . . 27 

Lines written Impromptu, on seeing Her Majesty Queen 

Victoria bestow the Crimean Medals . . . . 29 
Lines on the Death of Arthur, Duke of Wellington, 

written Impromptu, Sept. 14th, 1852 . . . . 31 

Lines written on Nov. 18th, 1852 . . . . . . 32 

In Memory of Sir Robert Sale and his brave Companions 

in Arms, who fell at Sobraon and Aliwal . . . . 35 
To Arthur, Duke of Wellington, on his rising to give " To 

the Memory of those that fell at Waterloo" . . 38 

To Lord Viscount Gough . . . . . . . . 40 



CONTENTS. 



Lines on the Banquet at Apsley House, in commemoration 

of the Battle of Waterloo 
Lines inspired by a View of the Monument to the Memory 

of Major Somerset, who fell gallantly fighting in the 

Battles of the Sutlej 
Lines addressed to the Ocean, whilst walking at Southsea 

On Poland 

To the Memory of my only Brother 

Napoleon 

To the Memory of my Father 

Chatsworth 

Lines to the Memory of Frederick Albert Loinsworth 

Lines on Wroxton Abbey 

Liberty 

Lines on the Domum 

Lines on the Death of Lord Melbourne 



43 



45 

48 
50 
52 
54 
56 
58 
60 
61 
64 
66 
69 



pstaral |«5 m\is §allafcj. 



Harold ; or, the Battle of Hastings 


71 


Arundel Castle 


. 90 


Eleanor of Castile 


. 101 


The Leopard Knight 


. 105 


Richard Coeur De Lion 


. 114 


The Lady Godiva 


. 123 


Joan of Arc 


. 137 


Fair Rosamond 


. 142 


Mary of Scotland . . 


149 


Satrrir pm 




Luther's Dream 


. 156 


Hagar and Ishmael 


. 158 


Jacob 


. 164 


Judith 


. 172 



LAYS OF ALMA, &c. 



LINES ADDEESSED TO THE GUAEDS ON THEIE 
DEPAETUEE FOE CONSTANTINOPLE, FEBEUAEY 
22nd, 1854. 

Go, soldiers, go ! seek distant strands ; 
Go ! gain fresh fame in foreign lands ; 
England doth give the word to roam, 
But bids you to remember home. 

And should you mix in festive scenes, 
Where joy and bliss weave magic dreams, 
Oh, then, when loved, admired, and known, 
Still, soldiers, still, remember home. 

B 



LINES ADDRESSED TO THE GUARDS. 

And if upon the battle-field 

You must the sword of valour wield, 

Then may your country's prayers have power 

To guard you in that awful hour. 

Aye, unto God she '11 raise her breath, — 
To God, whose word is life and death, 
And pray, by all that's good and fair, 
To make your lives His guardian care. 

She'll pray too, by those heroes fled, 
By all those great and gallant dead. 
Whose names are writ in History's page, 
That yours may find a deathless age ; — 

That to the laurels gain'd before 
Full many a wreath be still in store, 
To mark you with undying fame, 
And add fresh lustre to your name. 

Thus England's prayers shall hover round, 
To guard her sons on hostile ground, 
And seek to bring back safe once more 
Each hero to his native shore. 



ON THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 



LINES ON HEARING- OF THE BATTLE OF THE 
ALMA, SEPTEMBER 28th, 1854. 

Ring, ring the joy -bells loud, 

Roll forth the booming gun : 
Our arms have gain'd the day, — 

The Alma's heights are won ! 
Light high the beacon -fires, 

From palace, hall, and cot, — 
A victory's gain'd, whose fame 

Shall never be forgot. 

Drive back the selfish tear, — 

Hush, hush the struggling sigh ; 
Our sons we will not mourn 

While British flags wave high. 
We '11 sing instead their deeds, 

As bright as feats of yore, 
And to wreaths already gain'd 

We '11 add one laurel more. 



ON THE LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE. 

For now the foe is quell'd, 

Despite his boastful pride ; 
The God who guards the right 

Was on the victor's side. 
Then ring the joy -bells loud, 

Shout forth the warning cry, — 
We'll hunt each tyrant down, 

And Tyranny shall die ! 



THE LIGHT CAVALEY CHABGE AT BALAKLAVA, 

OCTOBEE 28th, 1854. 

Dedicated, by special permission, to Major- General the 
Earl of Cardigan. 

The battle-ground was kept 

In still and solemn pride, 
When o'er the deadly plain 

A horseman bold did ride. 
He rode in fearful haste, 

To give a message high, 
To bid six hundred men, 

To conquer or to die. 



ON THE LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE. 

" See ye those guns that stand 

" Before ye on this plain ? 
" Ye have but now the choice 

" To conquer or be slain. 
" Those guns t' our foes belong, 

" Those guns ye take or perish ! 
" Then charge in England's name, — 

" The land we so much cherish ! " 

Thus Nolan spake, and waved 

His glitt'ring sword on high, 
But soon the cannon's roar 

Hath drown'd his dying sigh. 
But nought can still the shout 

That rings across the plain, — 
The shout of fell revenge 

For their loved comrades slain. 

And on they rush'd to death, 
Those brave six hundred men ; 

And, though mow'd down like grass, 
They turn'd not back again. 



6 ON THE LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE. 

Though shot and shell fell fast, 
And blazed the lightning dire, 

Still onward, still they rode, 
And sought the deadly fire. 

Now here, now there, now lost, 

"Now girt around by foes, 
Oh, little cared that band 

So vict'ry crown'd its blows. 
Their gallant chief the while 

Did neither blench nor quail ;^ 
Cardigan ! for years to come 

Shall history tell the tale. 

The Roman, when he kept 

The far-famed bridge of yore, 
And fought with Roman pride 

To guard his native shore : 
The Curtius, when he dared 

The chasm's dark'ning way, 
Display'd not braver heart 

Than England's sons that day. 



ON THE LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE. 

And hark ! a ringing shout 

Proclaims their task is done, — 
Their deadly ride is o'er, 

Those noble hearts have won. 
The foe hath yielded up 

Those guns whose fatal fire 
Hath spread despair around, 

With carnage dark and dire. 

Alas ! those fatal guns, 

The cause of so much woe, 
That frown'd on all alike, 

And spared nor friend nor foe ; — 
Those guns are hush'd and still, 

Like tempest dying out, 
And nought is heard around 

But vict'ry's joyous shout. 

But the brave six hundred, 
Now that the fire is still, 

Cross'd they unscathed that plain 
And safely reach'd the hill ? 



ON THE LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE. 

Alas ! but few survived 
To tell the fearful tale, 

And vict'ry's cheer is drown'd 
In sorrow's weeping wail. 

Yes, through ages yet unborn 

Shall many tears be shed 
When hist'ry pens the tale, 

And mourns the gallant dead. 
Then those six hundred men 

Shall have their prowess told, 
And men shall cry aloud, 

Thus fought the brave of old ! 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR GEORGE CATHCART. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF SIR GEORGE CATH- 
CART, WHO FELL AT INKERMANN, NOVEMBER 
oth, 1854. 

It was a gladsome hour and day 
That saw the tyrant foe give way, 
And fly before our gallant men, 
Like autumn leaves shed o'er a glen; 
But oh ! alas ! our joyous cry 
Is mixed with bitter tear and sigh, 
And sadder still we mourn the blow 
That laid the noble Cathcart low. 
Oh ! say what demon wing'd the dart 
And plunged it in his dauntless heart ? 
What spirit, arm'd to work us ill, 
Had power that day to slay and kill ; 
And, jealous of our proud career, 
Found for our gallant chief a bier ? 

******* 
And shall there ne'er again be peace, 
Shall War's dark carnage never cease ? 



10 ON THE DEATH OF SIR GEORGE CATHCART. 

Yes ! for the muse, with mystic eye, 

Looks forward to futurity, 

And sees, with deep prophetic glance, 

The nations rise as from a trance, 

And, shaking off the rust of years, 

To ploughshares turn their deadly spears. 

She notes the year, the hour, the day, 

When tyrant pow'r shall lose its sway, — 

When Inkerm ami's ill-fated strand 

Shall bloom afresh like fairy land, 

When Cathcart's mound shall boast its flowers, 

When Cathcart's hill be crown'd with bowers, 

When War and all its woes have fled, 

And Peace triumphant reigns instead ! 

Still Cathcart ne'er shall be forgot, 

Nor those that shared his honour'd lot, 

No ! as each year comes slowly round, 

With fame each name shall still be crown'd ; 

While pitying friends shall drop a tear 

And sorrow o'er his sacred bier ; 

And men shall point and proudly tell, 

How Cathcart fought, how Cathcart fell. 



THE BATTLE OF TNKERMANN. 11 



THE BATTLE OF INKEKMANN, NOVEMBEE 5th, 1854. 

Rose the cold sun and set again, 
O'er Inkerrnann's wild, deadly plain, 
Ere we the victory could gain, 

And know our pow'r. 
Many a noble heart was cold, 
Hush'd was many a spirit bold, 
Together friend and foe were roll'd, 

In that dread hour. 



Man sought his fellow man that morn, 
Breathing hot vengeance, hate, and scorn, 
And, with wildest passion torn, 

Rush'd to battle. 
O God ! it was a fearful sight, 
Meeting thus stern in deadly fight, 
Each bent to prove his cause was right, 

'Mid thunder's rattle. 



12 THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN. 



While trumpets sounded in advance, 
While each man tightly grasps his lance, 
While o'er their heads their banners dance, 
In bright array ; 
And cannon roll across the plain, 
And waving plumes are damp with rain, 
And sink the dying on the slain, 

On that dark day. 



But what reck'd they the strong and brave ? 
When charging on, the word they gave 
Was vict'ry or an honour'd grave 

To him who died. 
Then on they dash'd upon their foe, 
Dealing despair with every blow, 
Till soon in death they laid them low, 

Despite their pride. 



THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN. 13 



Forgot was rank, forgot was all, 
Save to rush forth at glory's call, 
To nobly live, or bravely fall, 

In heaven to rise. 
While the youngest warrior there 
Flung youth's misgivings to the air, 
And did the utmost danger dare, 

To win the prize. 



Yes ! how they fought and won the day, 
Those who survive can proudly say, 
And tell how England bore away 

Her lofty name. 
And how her sons can bravely fight, 
And surely wield an arm of might, 
Whene'er the cause is just and right, 

Shall all proclaim. 



14 THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN. 



For of many a battle won, 
'Twixt Waterloo and Marathon, 
None yet have been more bravely done 

Than Inkermann. 
For there was courage true and tried, 
'Gainst fearful odds on every side, 
And hist'ry long shall speak with pride 

Of Inkermann. 



And if upon that fatal shore, 

We've lost a friend our hearts deplore, 

The loved that we shall see no more, 

We '11 murmur not : 
For they have won a deathless grave ; 
And often England's tears shall lave 
The spot that holds her noble brave, 

And mourn their lot. 



ON THE FUNERAL OF LORD RAGLAN. 15 

Yes ! year by year she'll watch her dead, 
And o'er their graves will lightly tread, 
And bid each nowret sweetly spread 

Her richest bloom. 
The laurestine, the lily fair, 
The blushing rose, shall be her care, 
To twine them in a chaplet rare 

Above their tomb, 



A KEQUIEM ON THE FUNEEAL OF FIELD -MAR- 
SHAL LORD RAGLAN, WRITTEN ON ITS ARRIVAL 
AT BRISTOL, JULY 25th, 1855. 

Hark ! the sad roll of muffled drums 

Sounds floating o'er the wave, 
And tells to all a soldier loved 

Is carried to the grave. 
Yes ! home from Alma's blood-stain'd strand 

They 've brought his cold remains, 
To give him in his native land 

A rest from earthly pains. 



16 THE FUNERAL OF LORD RAGLAN. 

With weeping eyes, with solemn steps, 

With measured pace and slow, 
With arms reversed, with flags half-high, 

The tearful mourners go. 
They bear him to his fathers' halls, 

To his ancestral home ; 
To rest within their stately walls, 

Beneath their hallow'd dome. 

And who is this they're bearing home 

With sorrow so sincere ? 
For whom is all this pomp and woe ? 

Who rests upon that bier ? 
Alas, alas ! doth Echo cry, 

'T is Raglan resting there : 
The man who hush'd the widows' sigh, 

Who blest the orphans' prayer. 

■ In battle-field a soldier brave, 
In council calm and true ; 
A friend to rich and poor alike, — 
All, all, his loss will rue ; 



THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 17 

His mild commands, his even sway, 

Made him beloved of all ; 
And, oh ! his best reward is found 

In his tear-bedewed pall. 

They clothe the walls with sable black, 

Hang thousand lamps on high ; 
And on the spot he first drew breath, 

They bring him home to lie. 
While those he loved in early days, 

And friends in after years, 
Are there to honour his sad grave 

And shed their last fond tears. 



THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 

And is thy day of sorrow come ? 
And are thy guns for ever dumb ? 
And thou no more hear beat of drum, 

Sebastopol ? 



18 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 

Hath all thy vaunted strength so vast 
Sunk down beneath the tempest's blast ? 
And have thy glories fled at last, 

Sebastopol ? 

Aye ! tower after tower falls, 

Lowly cots and stately halls 

Lie crush'd within thy bafcter'd walls, 

Sebastopol ! 

For thund'ring on in mad career, 

With flashing eye, with blood-stain'd spear, 

The troops dash on with heartfelt cheer, 

Sebastopol ! 

And in they rush upon thy bowers, 
And ere the shade of evening lowers, 
Their banners float above thy towers, 

Sebastopol ! 

But though thy strength 's for ever fled, 
Will that give back our gallant dead, 
Whose blood 'gainst thee was nobly shed, 

Sebastopol ? 



THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 19 

For, what depths of sorrowing woe 

It has been our lot to know 

Ere thy proud stones were levell'd low, 

Sebastopol ! 

Cathcart's generous breast is cold, 
Shadforth rests beneath thy mould, 
All to gain thy stony hold, 

Sebastopol ! 

Still, still, we triumph in our prize, 
And our loud shouts shall rend the skies 
To think that thou no more shalt rise, 

Sebastopol ! 

But should there ever come the hour 
When Gaul and Saxon have the power 
To once again restore each tower, 

Sebastopol, 

'T will be, I ween, another sway 
Thy children's children shall obey, 
When flags of freedom o'er thee play, 

Sebastopol. 



20 THE NIGHT ATTACK OF THE 



THE NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SOCKET- BOATS ON 
SWEABOBG. 

Dedicated to Captain Henry Caldwell, C.B., of Her Majesty's 
Flag Ship the Wellington. 

The guns from Sweaborg's battlements 

Were scarcely hush'd to rest, 
When forth there went a gallant band 

On ocean's troubled breast. 

The planets each had calmly risen, 

The moon was at her height, 
When floated out the Rocket-boats 

On that still summer's night. 

And mann'd they were by noble hearts, 

By men of courage high, — 
Men who cared nought in that dread hour, 

Except to win or die. 

All day was heard the booming gun, 

The cannon's deaf 'ning roar, 
The flashing of the lightning's fire, 

On Sweaborg's fated shore. 



ROCKET-BOATS ON SWEABORG. 21 

And burn'd their souls with ardent pride 

To share the coming fight, 
And long'd they for the solemn bell 

That toll'd the hour of night. 

For at that warning dark and dire 

Went they to win renown, 
To lay proud Sweaborg in the dust, 

And crush her glory down. 

And as the gun-boats floated on, 

Each man so bold and true 
Sent forth a shout that rent the air 

As came her towers in view. 

That shout the Heavens re-echoed back, 

'Twas borne across the tide, 
'T was carried on to Sweaborg's walls, 

Stern warning to their pride. 

Oh, fatal warning, fatal place, 

The signal shot was fired, 
And gallant hearts and gallant arms 

Fought all that night untired. 



22 THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 

They fought till every tower was low, 

Till not a stone was left, 
Till e'en the strength of proudest hall 

Was of its glory reft. 

And when morn's rays burst forth at last, 
When rose the gladd'ning day, 

The blacken'd stones told well the tale 
Where shatter'd Sweaborg lay. 



THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 



Dedicated by special ■permission to Lieut.- General His Royal 
Highness the Duke of Cambridge. 



Streams of golden light were falling 

O'er Alma's verdant hills, 
Birds their mates were sweetly calling 

Beside the murm'ring rills, 
That flow'd where'er the eye could see 
In thoughtless mood, gay, glad, and free. 



THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 23 

Ah ! little reck'd each joyous rill 
How soon from hearth and home 

Thousands of fellow-men to kill, 
Thousands of men would come, 

With blood and slaughter to deface 

The purity of nature's face. 

Lo ! still upon those hills so bright 

The Muscov's camp did lay, 
While sentinels upon the height 

Kept watch the livelong day, 
And strain'd their gaze, some trace in vain 
Of England's gallant ships to gain. 

'Tis morn, — behold ! is that a speck 

That stains the silv'ry sea ? 
Why flies each man his side to deck 

With such a fearful glee ? 
Arm ! arm ! they cry, the foe appears, 
To add t' our fame of former years ! 

Thus boasted they at morning light, 

But not at ev'ning tide : 
At morn they stood a gallant sight, 

At eve they fled or died. 



24 THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 

They 'd vow'd to conquer or to slay, 
A greater Power changed the day. 

For Right and Might stood side by side, 
And waved our flag on high, 

Which, as upon the blast it rose, 
Faint echoed back the sigh 

Of many a firm and steadfast heart 

That had most nobly done its part. 

They fought, and well upheld their name, 
Or found an honour'd grave ; 

And shall we not proclaim their fame, 
And welcome back the brave ? 

Aye, England stretches forth her arm 

To greet her sons safe back from harm. 

Aye ! fought they all a goodly fight, 

Or fell on battle-field, 
With stern resolve to guard the right, 

Or dear life's breath to yield ; 
'Twas ever thus did Saxon race 
Treat fell injustice face to face. 



A REQUIEM FOR THE BRAVE, ETC. 25 

The fall'n have found honour'd rest 

Upon the spot they fell, 
Their mem'ry hath a nation blest, 

And fame will guard it well, 
And point to the surviving band, 
All worthy of their native land. 

And Alma's battle was the first 

We fought on yonder shore, 
And oh ! that it may prove the last, 

We fervently implore ; 
For, win or lose, grief's all we gain 
For battles fought or cities ta'en. 



A REQUIEM FOE THE BRAVE WHO FELL AT 
INKERMANN, NOVEMBER 5th, 1854. 

Struck to the heart, upon the battle-field, 
Sad England's bravest heroes fell and died, 
Their spirits bold to death alone would yield, 
Mocking the foeman's rage and boastful pride. 



26 A REQUIEM FOR THE BRAVE, ETC. 

They fell with triumph and with honour crown'd, 
With vict'ry's cheering note within their ear, 
With England's banners proudly floating round, 
Amid the clash of musket, sword, and spear. 

Oh ! what were their sad thoughts in that dread hour, 
When all things earthly faded fast around them ; 
Say, did they think on war or war's stern pow'r, 
Or the soft ties which once to earth had bound them? 

Or thought they of their comrades young and brave, 
Who fought with them, in battle side by side, 
But now, alas ! like foam on ocean's wave, 
Is cast adrift by winter's icy tide ? 

Yes ! they did think of all, and it was balm, 
For angels bright were watching from above, 
And whisper'd sweetly words of holy calm, 
As their freed souls they bore to realms of love. 

" Fear not," they said, " Britannia's grateful arm 
Shall shield from care and want each sacred tie ; 
Wife, sire, and child, they all are safe from harm, 
England their woes shall soothe, their tears shall dry. 



THE HOSPITAL AT SCUTARI. 27 

"And though long dreary years must pass away, 
Ere once again the dear ones thou wilt meet them ; 
But when for Heaven they change this vale of tears, 
Thy loving souls shall be the first to greet them." 



THE HOSPITAL AT SCUTARI. 
Dedicated to Miss Nightingale. 

'Tis midnight's hour, in yonder ward 
The wounded sick are lying, 

And rise from out each narrow bed 
The moanings of the dying. 

The young who left their fathers' halls 

An honour'd name to gain, 
Are tossing there, by fever worn, 

By agonising pain. 

The vet'ran who will never rise 

From off that lowly bed, 
Whose dying thoughts are sadly wrapt 

In visions dark and dread. 



28 THE HOSPITAL AT SCUTARI. 

All, all, are lying sad and lone, 

No sound of footstep falls, 
No accents breathed save that of pain 

Within those darken'd walls. 

But hush ! what spirit softly steals, 

And glides along the room, 
And whispers words of holy calm 

To chase away the gloom ? 

Who kneels beside each dying man 

And gently bathes his face, 
Who wipes the death-damp from his brow 

With all a woman's grace ? 

Her form is fair to look upon, 

Her eye is heavenly bright, 
She looks like seraph sent on earth 

To do a deed of light. 

And bright thy deeds, oh ! holy maid, — 

Bright, too, be thy renown, 
If not on earth, in Heaven above, 

Thou'lt win a changeless crown. 



ON SEEING HER MAJESTY, ETC. 29 

For tbou hast done God's holy will, 

Hast trod His chosen way, 
Hath left the homes of pomp and pride, 

The pleasures of the gay, — 

To stand beside the lowly bed, 

To soothe the dying soul, 
To lead the erring mortal home 

To his eternal goal. 

And when thine own last moment comes, 

And thou no more mayst rise, 
Thy fellow angels round shall stand 

To bear thee to the skies. 



LINES, WRITTEN IMPROMPTU, ON SEEING HER 
MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA BESTOW THE CRI- 
MEAN MEDALS. 

The staff is set, the flags are spread, 

Old England's pennon flies, 
The troops march on with solemn tread 

While joyous notes arise; 



30 ON SEEING HER MAJESTY, ETC. 

They march in steady rank and file, 
Before the Queen of Britain's isle. 

For England's Queen is there to-day 

With all her nobles round, 
And stands beneath the banners gay 

That float upon the ground ; 
She stands with open heart and hands 
To bless and thank her noble bands. 

For back from yon Crimean shore 
Those gallant troops have come, 

And though their laurels droop with gore, 
Yet bravely have they won 

The medal that their liege bestows, 

As guerdon for their thousand woes. 

And see with what a graceful air, 

With what a feeling glance, 
She bends to speak to each one there, 

As slow the men advance ; 
She heeds not rank, nor pomp, nor fame, 
But showers her smiles on all the same. 



DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 31 

And when the pleasing task was o'er 

And all the prizes given, 
Rang out from every soldier there, 

A shout that rose to heaven, 
While thousands echo'd back the cry, — 
Blest are the brave, they win or die. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF ARTHUR, DUKE OF 
WELLINGTON, WRITTEN IMPROMPTU SEPTEM- 
BER 14th, 1852. 

Hark ! the sad bell ! the Hero 's dead, 
His spirit unto Heaven has sped, 
England may mourn her Chieftain fled, 

And tell his deeds in story ; 
Whilst crowding round the eternal gate, 
With joy, his ancient comrades wait, 
To greet the Chief, whose word was fate, 

To realms of glory. 

He's gone ! the voice is hush'd and still, 
That bow'd e'en sovereigns to his will, 
And bade them all his laws fulfil, 
And gave them peace, 



32 LINES WRITTEN ON NOVEMBER 18TH, 1852. 

He's gone ! the Phoenix of his age, 
In battle brave, in council sage, 
Whose nod controll'd a people's rage,* 
And bade it cease. 

He's gone ! Britannia weeps alone, 
And sadly echoes back the groan 
That rises both from cot and throne, 

In mournful measure. 
Weep not ! Britannia, look on high, 
Bid Britain's sons their tear-drops dry, 
Fame such as his will never die, 

'T will live for ever. 



LINES WEITTEN ON NOVEMBEE 18th, 1852. 

Day broke in silence calm and deep, 
E'en nature seemed disposed to weep, 
And join the mourning hosts that stood, 
To see their Hero, brave and good, 
Borne to his rest, calm, still and lone, 
Amid one general sob and moan. 
* April 10th, 1848. 



LINES WRITTEN ON NOVEMBER 18TH, 1852. 33 

Hark ! to the roll of muffled drums ; 
The solemn pageant slowly comes, 
Bearing with sad befitting grace, 
To his last peaceful resting-place, 
Him who Albion's battles won, 
Her noblest, best, and bravest son. 

Solemn and slow, with measured tread, 

Soldiers, bear the mighty dead, 

With arms reversed, with mournful wail, 

That sinks, then rises on the gale, 

Proclaiming in that heavy sound, 

At last his spirit peace hath found. 

On ! on ! they march, a glittering show, 
Deck'cl in their panoply of woe, 
Whilst he who led them on to glory 
Is now become the theme for story, 
And years shall pass, and pass in vain, 
Ere such a Chief be seen again. 

Behold, too, in yon mighty nave 
Are group'd the noble and the brave, 

D 



34 LINES WRITTEN ON NOVEMBER 18TH, 1852. 

His comrades, who on battle-field 
Spurn'd the thought to fly or yield — 
Yet o'er their honoured Chieftain's bier 
Think it no shame to drop a tear. 

Such manly tribute, if he know 
That which is passing here below, — 
Such tribute to his worth would be 
More prized than hard- won Victory, 
Or jewell'd star, or glitt'ring crown, 
Or deathless title of renown. 

Then, Soldier, rest, for o'er thy bier 
Will drop a grateful Nation's tear ; 
And oh ! thy name shall nerve the blow 
That from our shores expels the foe, 
And Britain to that gloried name 
Will give its fullest meed of fame. 



IN MEMORY OF SIR ROBERT SALE. 35 



IN MEMORY OF SIR ROBERT SALE AND HIS 
BRAVE COMPANIONS IN ARMS, WHO EELL AT 
SOBRAON AND ALIWAL. 

Shouts of glory are rending the sky, 
Which are wafted from Indus to here, 

But echo sends only a sigh, 
To hallow the warrior's bier ; 

For on Aliwal's dearly -bought field 
How many a brave heart has fell, 

How many bright prospects are seal'd, 
Or hush'd in a funeral knell. 

The veteran who rode forth at morn, 
With hope springing high in his breast, 

Reck'd not that at night he'd be borne, 
And laid in his last final rest — 

The young, who rush'd forth to the field, 

Impatient to conquer or die, 
Who cared not their spirit to yield, 

So they heard but the enemy fly — 



36 IN MEMORY OF SIR ROBERT SALE. 

Have both found a glorious grave, 

For they fell with their swords in their hand, 
While the banners of victory wave, 

Like the leaves of their own native land. 

And Britannia weeps sad, o'er the chaplet she wove 

Of laurels the freshest and green, 
Intermix'd with the shamrock, the thistle and rose, 

The brightest that ever was seen. 

She wove it with care, for her favourite son ; * 

But he fell on the field in his glory, 
And nothing remains for the deeds he has done, 

But to tell of his valour in story : — 

Of the undying valour, that never would yield — 
Of the courage that never grew dim — 

Of the heart that was true in the camp or the field — 
Of the spirit untainted with sin. 

And oh ! if that spirit in regions above, 
Still yearns for the land of his birth ; 

It sees that Britannia forgets not her love, 
Nor ceases to honour his worth. 
* Sir Eobert Sale. 



W MEMORY OF SIR ROBERT SALE. 37 

That the laurels she wove, with such pleasure and 
'care, 

His perishing brows to enfold, 
Now serve as a crown to the monument fair, 

That is raised to the hero bold. 



38 DRINK TO THE BRAVE. 



TO ARTHUR, DUKE OF WELLINGTON, ON HIS 
RISING TO GIVE " TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE 
THAT FELL AT WATERLOO." 

This Poem is most respectfully dedicated to the most Fair, the 
Most Noble the Duchess of Wellington. 

Drink to the brave 

Who fell in the field ; 
To the undying valour 

That never would yield. 
Drink it in silence, 

With sorrowful mien, 
For their spirits are gazing 

From heaven unseen. 

The wild flowers bloom 

O'er the warrior's grave, 
Then silently drink 

To the souls of the brave ; 
Nobly they fought, 

And gallantly fell, 
Their glories and honours 

Are wreath'd like a spell. 



DRINK TO THE BRAVE. 39 

When the hero of Waterloo 

Rises to pass, 
Solemn and sadly, 

The funeral glass — 
At that moment, in heaven, 

They echo again, 
" Long life to the hero 

Who drinks to the slain ! " 



40 TO LOUD VISCOUNT GOUGH. 



TO LOED VISCOUNT GOUGH, 
^Ijese Iftnes, 

WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS LORDSHIP'S 
SAFE ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND, 

Are dedicated, by his Lordship's most obliged, most 
grateful Servant, the AUTHORESS. 

All hail to the vessel that brought back the brave, 
That has brought him safe back, o'er the perilous 

wave, 
And hail to thee, chieftain, no longer thou'lt roam, 
So with millions of others I welcome thee home ; 

For I honour thy virtues, thy spirit, and zeal, 
From the depths of my heart springs the joy that I 

feel, 
In being permitted, though simple my pen, 
To hail thee the noblest, the bravest of men. 



TO LORD VISCOUNT GOUGH. 41 

For thou hast restor'd, 'neath thy soldier-like sway, 
The spirit of chivalry, long pass'd away ; 
Thy victories were gain'd not by cunning or art, 
But by the proud valour that dwells in the heart. 

For, when on the field, with a courage undying, 
Thou heardst the glad sounds of the enemy flying, 
Though a soldier's delight swell'd thy heart in its 

pride, 
A tear stain'd thy cheek, for the brave that had died. 

Yes, Courage and Mercy are twins from their birth, 
Ordain'd to defend and protect us on earth — 
And blest is the man who can boast of the two, 
For, alas ! the proud union is found but in few. 

Then belov'd in the camp, and ador'd in the field, 
The chief of an army that never would yield, 
Long, long, mayst thou live to enjoy the renown 
That shall brighten thine age like an evergreen 
crown. 

And oh, do not forget, in this land of the free, 
That an Irishman's welcome is waiting for thee ; 



42 



TO LORD VISCOUNT GOUGH. 



A welcome so warm, so fond, and so true, 
That it well may repay all the ills you've gone 
through. 



Then, hero of Moultan, the shamrock shall twine 
And encircle the laurels with classic design — 
While Britannia the wreath shall triumphantly wave, 
And crown thee, her son, amid shouts of the brave. 



THE BATTLE OF "WATERLOO. 43 



LINES ON THE BANQUET AT APSLEY HOUSE, 
IN COMMEMOEATION OE THE BATTLE OF 
WATEKLOO. 

Oh, glorious field of Waterloo, 
You rise to memory fresh and true, 

While banners o'er thee wave ; 
I'll sing thy bravest deeds in verse — 
Thy triumphs while I've breath rehearse, 

And crown the warriors' grave. 

When at their gallant chieftain's board 
The veteran heroes clasp their sword, 

And mourn the brave ones fled ; 
Raising the sparkling glass on high, 
They waft it, with a silent sigh, 

In memory of the dead. 

And justly is that tribute due 
To those who fell at Waterloo — 



44 THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 

Proud England's gallant sons, 
Who shouted " Victory or death ! " 
And fought until their failing breath 

Proclaim'd their race was run. 

Yes, Waterloo 's a glorious term, 

It makes our hearts with freedom burn, 

And bless the hallow'd ground 
That bought the olive branch of peace, 
And caused the fatal wars to cease 

In all the nations round. 

Then may that union last for ever : 
May no dark cloud have power to sever, 

Or throw its shade unseen — 
Britannia, may she proudly gaze, 
And wreathe her laurels with her bays, 

To crown our English Queen. 

Yes, let us crown her Queen of Peace, 
And pray the blessing ne'er may cease, 

But shine a glorious light ; 
We'll kneeling pray to God on high, 
To Him who ever hears our cry, 

To guide our wishes right. 






TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR SOMERSET. 45 



LINES INSPIRED BY A VIEW OF THE MONUMENT 
TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR SOMERSET, WHO 
FELL GALLANTLY FIGHTING IN THE BATTLES 
OF THE SUTLEJ. 

Hero ! to thy honour'd shade 
How sweet a tribute here is paid, 
Paid to thy heroic name — 
To thy brave and spotless fame ; 
Paid by those who saw thee fall, 
Pierc'd with wounds at glory's call. 

When thou sank upon the plain, 
Never more to rise again — 
Shouting with thy dying breath, 
" Victory, or a glorious death ! " 



46 TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR SOMERSET. 

If thought of home cross'd o'er thy brain. 

In that struggling hour of pain, 

Angels whisper'd o'er and o'er, 

That upon thy native shore 

A nation's tears should freely flow, 

To assuage the bitter woe 

That must wring thy parents' heart, 

From their cherish'd son to part, 

Over which a veil we draw, 

Like the sacrifice of yore, 

When the Grecian fathers' sighs 

Were shrouded thus from public eyes. 

Tears bedew thy early grave, 
Banners o'er thy tomb shall wave : 
Shades of heroes shall arise, 
To bless thy youthful obsequies — 
Whilst Honour of her favourite son 
Recounts the deeds that he has done ; 
And Freedom hallows with her name, 
The spot where he has earn'd his fame. 

Then, warrior, may you peaceful sleep, 
While o'er thy bier thy comrades weep, 



TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR SOMERSET. 



47 



And this tablet of to-day 
Shall stand when years have pass'd away, 
While each succeeding age shall tell 
How brave you fought- — how nobly fell. 



48 LINES ADDRESSED TO THE OCEAN. 



LINES ADDKESSED TO THE OCEAN, WHILST 
WALKING AT SOUTHSEA. 

Dedicated to Lord Frederick Fitzclarence. 

Dear Ocean ! I've wandered by many a strand, 
Where the waters encircle my own native land, 

But never before, and perhaps ne'er again, 

Shall I view such a spot as this emerald plain. 

For here are combin'd, with a magical art, 

All the beauties that nature and taste can impart; 

And I doubt, if in threading the green island round, 
For proud recollections, their fellow are found. 

For the ground that I tread on is hallow'd in story, 
By the foot of the chieftain* who fell in his glory, 
* Nelson. 



LINES ADDEESSED TO THE OCEAN. 49 

But who here breath'd adieu, ere he sail'd o'er the 
wave, 
To find in the arms of the Victory a grave. 

And again it was blest, in the annals of fame, 
For the Hero of Waterloo stood on the plain, 

Ere his conquering arm brought the war to a close, 
And gave unto Europe a lasting repose. 

And, Ocean, if souls are permitted to know, 
In the regions of bliss, what is passing below, 

Will not many look down on this charming parade, 
And note with delight the improvement that's made? 

For though the fair island* untouch' d doth remain, 
And the guns of Old England are pointed the same, 

This fair esplanade, in which all must delight, 
Will rise to their eyes like a vision of light. 

Then blest be the man who with patience and care 
Laid out the fair plan, and then brought it to bear ; 

And blest, doubly blest, be the goodness of heart, 
Who, with liberal zeal, could such pleasures impart. 

* Isle of Wight. 



50 ON THE ANNEXATION OE CEACOW. 

Yes ! thousands shall thank him for what he has done, 
And say that the sire shines forth in the son : 

And while gratitude dwells in the hearts of the free, 
The name of Fitzclarence remember'd shall be. 



TO LORD DUDLEY STUART, 
THE ERIEND OE POLAND, 

ON THE ANNEXATION OF CRACOW TO THE 
AUSTRIAN DOMINIONS, 

Is, by his Lordship s permission, most gratefully Dedi- 
cated by the AUTHORESS. 

Poland, thy name is no more, 

Thy sorrows can never be heal'd ; 
Thy last sigh of freedom is o'er, 

And thy fate upon earth is now seal'd. 

For thy kingdom is parted away, 

Where a Stanislaus reign' d in his glory, 

And nations unborn, in long ages to come, 
Shall weep o'er thy desolate story. 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF CBACOW. 51 

They shall tell how the kings of the earth 
Rose and stretch' d forth a merciless hand, 

And, trampling on honour and worth, 
Made slaves of both thee and thy land. 

For the patriot's arm was in vain, 
When oppos'd to the power of gold ; 

Their blood it might flow like the rain, 
Their sword might be steady and bold : 

But Russia and Austria combin'd, 

Rose like giants whom might had array' d ; 

They shiver' d the sword in the wind, 
And their life was the penalty paid. 

And Cracow, the last dying flame 

Of freedom, has burnt out at last ; 
And Poland, and liberty's name, 

Live now but as dreams of the past. 

But tremble, thou spoilers of earth, 
When God's final trumpet shall sound, 

And the archangel's fiat goes forth, 
To number the nations around — 

e 2 






'2 TO THE HEMOEY OE MY BEOTHEE. 

Then Poland shall not be forgot, 

She shall rise like a phoenix from fire, 

And the sorrows that now are her lot, 
In the blood of her foes shall expire. 

For a terrible vengeance shall fall 

On those who have trampled her down ; 

Who, deaf to humanity's call, 

Despoil' d her of kingdom and crown. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY ONLY BEOTHEE, WHO, 
TO THE ETEENAL SOEEOW OF HIS FAMILY, 
WAS OTFOETUNATELY DEOWNED, SEPTEMBEE 
9, 1838. 

Oh ! snatch' d away when life was new, 
And hope was springing bright and true ; 
Oh! snatch' d away in earliest bloom, 
My brother sleeps within the tomb. 

Brief was his span of life below, 
But free alike from care or woe ; 
His joyous spirit, form'd for mirth, 
Soar'd far above this lower earth. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MT BROTHER. 53 

Yes, he was Genius' favourite child, 
She stamp' d him with her impress wild, 
And, fearing earth might slight the prize, 
Translated him to ethereal skies. 

So when he sank beneath the wave, 
And ocean prov'd his early grave, 
While bending o'er his form in grief, 
His mother's heart refus'd relief. 

She knew not why her cherish' d son 
Was gather' d ere his race was run, 
Before his pure and noble soul 
Was sullied by the world's control : — 

She knew it not, she felt it not, 
She only felt her own sad lot, 
Till angels whisper' d peace and love, 
And told her of his joys above : — 

That having left this vale of woe, 
To dwell where flowers for ever blow, 
His kindred spirits came from high. 
To waft him to his native sky. 



54 



And there he reigns an angel bright, 
Enthron'd within those realms of light; 
And that blest thought shall dry the tear 
That flows through many a lengthen' d year. 



NAPOLEON. 
Say, shall I dip my pen in fire, 
To paint the hero I admire ? 
To paint the towering strength of soul, 
That bow' d the world to its control ; 
Or paint the free unfetter' d mind, 
That e'en a prison could not bind. 

Star of the earth, from whence thou sprung, 
Whose prowess dwells on every tongue ; 
Star of the mighty ! in whose grave 
Lies all that's valiant, great and brave ; 
A thousand years may pass in vain, 
Ere such a star shall shine again. 

When the lone Isle that gave thee birth, 
Saw thee the conqueror of the earth, 
And watch' d her son to conquest ride, 
Buoyant with hope, elate with pride ; 



NAPOLEON. 

From mountain side to forest glen, 
Thy name resounded back again. 

And shall those glories pass away, 
Like night before the coming day ? 
Shall name and lineage be forgot, 
The trophies of thy brilliant lot ? 
And e'en the coward dare to raise 
His puny voice to blast thy praise ? 

No ! 'tis a name that cannot die, 
Though time on rapid pinions fly ; 
Fame blew her trumpet far and near, 
To waft her favourite son's career ; 
From northern shore to torrid zone 
She made thy name and conquests known, 

And though on high it was ordain' d 

That thou should lose whate'er thou gain'd, 

And die a captive sad and lone, 

Bereft of kingdom and of throne, 

To show that fame, nor rank, nor power 

Avails man in his dying hour — 

They could not bring thy child to thee, 
To soothe its father's misery ; 



56 TO THE MEMORY OF MT FATHER. 

They could not bring thy wife to stand 
Beside thy bed, to clasp thy hand, 
To bathe thy brow with woman's care, 
And catch each sigh and parting prayer. 

No ! none but strangers watch'd thy bed, 
And raised the requiem for the dead, 
And laid thee in the silent grave, 
Encircled by the sea-girt wave : 
As one lone isle had given thee birth, 
Another clasp'd thee in her earth. 

And there, until the final doom, 
Thou' might have rested in the tomb, 
Had not thy self-adopted land 
Sent forth her children in a band, 
To bring thee back to France again, 
And raise an altar to thy fame. 



TO THE MEMOBY OF MY FATHEE. 

Ie warm affections, if an honest heart, 

"Where truth and honour form'd an equal part- 

If upright dealings, purity of soul, 

Untouch' d, untainted by the world's control — 



TO THE MEMOET OE MT EATHER. 57 

If these find favour in a Saviour's love, 
Then is thy spirit blest in realms above. 

If kindest speech, devoid of art or guile, 
Where none found fraud beneath thy open smile ; 
Less willing to accept than quick to lend, 
Who ne'er made money on a ruin'd friend, 
Nor spoil' d the widow or the orphan's share, 
But held them sacred as a prophet's prayer. 

Oh yes ! my father, when I strive to see, 
And grace my pages with a sketch of thee, 
How all thy simple virtues rise to view, 
And crowd my memory when I think of you — 
And thinking, try to paint them as they stand ; 
How sweet the task, how quick my willing hand. 

And though some mortal failings did efface 
The bright perfections which I love to trace, 
Yet weigh' d against the virtues of thy mind, 
They're like a feather balanced by the wind, 
That sports a moment in the azure air, 
But leaves no trace to mark its dwelling there. 

No trace remains — thy virtues bear the palm, 
And hover o'er my path, a sacred charm. 



CHATSWORTH. 



Proud of the honest name bequeath' d by thee, 
God grant me grace to keep it pure and free ; 
Unstain'd, untainted, may I live to rise, 
And meet thee joyful in the ethereal skies. 



CHATSWORTH. 



Chatsworth ! my pen can faintly tell 
The thousand charms that round thee dwell ; 
Thy waving woods, thy forests wide, 
Where murmuring cascades swell the tide 
Of many a bright and glittering stream 
That shine in heaven's reflected beam. 

And was it from a woman's hand, 
Thou rose to grace our English land ? 
With all thy proud and stately towers, 
Thy princely halls and lady's bowers, 
Thy fairy grots, thy gardens wide, 
Where Flora reigns in matchless pride. 

Yes, exile sweet from many a land, 

The flowers spring forth a blooming band, 

Transplanted from their native earth, 

They glory in their second birth, 

And shed their fragrance o'er the scene, 

As grateful for their bowers of green. 



CHATSWORTH. 59 

And though my pen can fainter still, 
Trace him who both has power and will 
To spread thy glories, raise thy fame, 
And teach thee that thy brightest claim 
Lies in the feeling heart and hand 
That welcomes all throughout the land, — 

Yes, welcomes with a generous heart . 
The sons of genius and of art, 
And opens wide his gates to those 
Who from their talents nobly rose, 
To grace the land that proudly claims 
The birthright of their hallow' d names. 

Yes, Chatsworth ! that's the wizard spell, 
That makes thee more than pen can tell ; 
Though noble are thy stately towers, 
Though brilliant are thy matchless flowers, 
Though art and nature mingling sweet, 
Might make thy halls a magic seat — 
Without thy master's hand and heart, 
Chatsworth ! thy fame would soon depart. 



60 TO THE MEMOET OE E. A. LOINSWOETH. 



LINES TO THE MEMORY OF FREDERICK ALBERT 
LOINSWORTH, LATE INSPECTOR GENERAL OF 
HER MAJESTY'S MEDICAL STAFF IN INDIA.* 

Oh sad was your fate, in a far distant land, 

To die ere the moment of meeting ; 
When all that you lov'd left their own native strand, 

Impatient to give you the greeting. 

Yes, far from the land of your birth, 

From all you held holy and dear, 
From the scenes that you cherish' d on earth, 

From the friends that could comfort and cheer. 

No wife of your bosom to pray, 

No children to soothe your last hour ; 

Your sun it went down in the day, 
Cut oiF in its glory and power. 



* The melancholy circumstance that gave rise to the fore- 
going lines originated in my uncle heing separated six years 
from his wife and family. They landed in India four weeks 
after his death. 



(XN" WB0XT01N- ABBEY. 61 

Oh ! cruel the cold hand of death, 

Not to grant you a few weeks' delay, 
But to bear off your trembling breath, 

While yet they were winging their way. 

Yes ! winging their flight like a bird, 

They came to find nought but your grave ; 

To feel that their prayers were not heard, 
For they had not the power to save. 

Nor lengthen' d your life till they came^ 

Were it only to bless them and die ; 
Their journey would not have been vain, 

Could they but have receiv'd your last sigh. 



LINES WRITTEN ON ACCIDENTALLY VIEWING 
A SERIES OF PICTURES ILLUSTRATIVE OF 
WROXTON ABBEY. 

Wroxtois" ! in gazing on thy walls, 
In noting down thy stately halls, 
I feel inspir'd to seek the muse, 
Thy ancient glories to peruse ; 
And in each gabled roof and tower, 
Eke out the story of an hour ; 



62 ON" WEOXTON ABBEY. 

And make the artist's magic skill 
Subservient to my power and will. 

I view, as with prophetic eye, 
Old scenes of grandeur gliding by ; 
When kings sought low, within thy shade, 
A shelter from the world's parade, 
And many a knight and baron bold 
Laid down their pride and earthly gold, 
To find within thy quiet arms 
A refuge from the world's alarms. 

And when thy holy tenants fled, 
Their sacred calling past and dead, 
Still, Wroxton ! thou threw wide thy gate 
To kings, but kings in sovereign state ; 
And saw, instead of monkish pride, 
Bright scenes of social joy abide ; 
Whilst silvery laugh from lady's bower, 
Broke lightly on the passing hour. 

But yet, hi spite of joy and glee, 
A hallow' d shade thou seem'st to me ; 
Each storied arch, each shadowy nook, 
Our modern fancies ill could brook, 



OS WEOXTON ABBEY. 63 

As in thy halls of quaint design, 
Lov'd relics of the olden time, 
The genius of the ancient place 
Recounts the glories of her race. 

She tells of all that's gone before, 
She looks beyond, and prays for more — 
She notes the heir of all her pride, 
From morning's blush till evening tide : 
She watches with a guardian care, 
The boy so bright, so young, and fair, 
And calls on every saint above, 
To aid her in her task of love. 

And can, oh can she call in vain 

On heaven, to guard her charge from pain ? 

Oh no ! his parent's virtues rise, 

In grateful incense to the skies, 

And plead before the throne of Him, 

In whom was neither guile nor sin, 

To make this boy, of ceaseless prayer, 

Worthy his guardian angel's care. 



64 



LIBERTY, 

Oh Liberty ! oh glorious theme, 

The freeman's hope, the poet's dream, — 

How deep, how strong thy spell ! 
Say in what region of delight, 
What Eden hid from mortal sight, 

Dost thou delight to dwell ? 

For not upon this lower earth, 
Though many feel and own thy worth, 

Is found thy resting spot : 
We only catch thy shadows here, 
We've nought besides thy name to cheer 

Our solitary lot. 

And oft that sacred name is made, 
Ambition's schemes to shield and aid, 

The tyrant's last resource ; 
He calls thee in the freeman's name, 
Awakes thy soul by words of flame, 

Then puts thee down by force. 

The soldier on the battle field, 
The martyrs on the scaffold yield, 



65 



Their spirits pure and free ; 
They feel that death has lost its sting, 
Feel nought but triumph while they sing 

Their dying chaunts to thee. 

Yes ! Liberty, thou dost inspire 
A holy charm, a sacred fire, 

In every freeman's breast ; 
Oh ! may that spirit never die, 
May tyrants and their minions fly 

Before thy glittering crest. 

Then, Britons, though we cannot tell 
In what bright spot the saint may dwell, 

We'll pray her influence here ; 
And while upon our sea-girt isle 
She deigns to shed her radiant smile, 

What need have we to fear 1 

Not foreign foes, it would be vain : 

For Albion's sons would tell them plain, 

That, when they cross' d the wave, 
There's not upon our native ground 
One spot of land that could be found, 

To yield them e'en a grave. 

E 



66 THE CELEBKATION OE THE DOMTJM. 

No, from ourselves the fault will spring, 
If Discord flap her darkest wing, 

And Christian virtues cease ; 
For Liberty will never fly, 
While we uphold her altars high, 

In unity and peace. 



LINES COMPOSED ON THE CELEBRATION OF 
THE DOMUM AT WINCHESTER. 

Domum ! Domum ! Dulce Domum ! 

Memory long shall hold you dear ; 
Although other lands I roam in, 

Oft you'll steal upon mine ear. 

Whether I seek festal halls 

Or tread alone the forest glade ; 

Wheresoe'er my duty calls, 

From my heart you ne'er shall fade. 

For on Fancy's bank I'll draw, 

Bid her wave her wand around, 
And the glittering scene once more 

Soon my senses will surround. 






THE CELEBEATION OP THE DOMUAT. 6/ 

Fairy forms with star-light eyes, 
Hearts that never dreamt of care, 

Like bands of wandering fays will rise, 
Or spirits from the upper air. 

And St. Mary's stately towers 

Shall glad once more my inner sight, 

Whilst music soft as summer showers 
Shall back recall the Domum night. 

Yet, though a strain that tells of pleasure, 

It, alas ! speaks more of woe, 
For the heart that fram'd the measure 

Felt the bitterest grief below.* 

Ye, who revel in the bliss 

That a parent's love bestows, 
Ye, who've felt affection's kiss, 

Ye can never guess his woes. 

* The origin of the celebrated Dulce Domum, of "Winchester 
School, is wrapped in mystery. Tradition, however, asserts it to 
have been composed by a boy, who, being an orphan, and left 
alone during the long vacations, took it so to heart, that he cut 
the words upon some trees he had planted during his solitary 
hours, and then hung himself. 

J? 2 



68 THE CELEBRATION OE THE DOMUM. 

For no parents watch' d his coming, 
No fond mother blest his sight, 

No reward for days of learning, 
None to praise when all was right. 

Three long dreary years he stood, 
Watch' d each joyous soul depart, 

Then, in melancholy mood, 

Strove to hush his breaking heart. 

But the struggle was in vain, 

Mortal strength gave way before it, 

And a death-like sense of pain 

Struck the unlov'd boy that bore it. 

Sadly to his haunts slow stealing, 

Where his lonesome hours Avere pass'd, 

He compos' d those lines of feeling, 
Lines whose glory long shall last. 

Yes, the lone, neglected boy 

Imag'd joys he never felt, 
Painted love without alloy, 

Love that might a stoic melt — 

Love, the purest that is known, 
Such a love as angels feel, 



ON THE DEATH OF VISCOUNT MELEOT7BNE. 69 

When around the Father's throne 
- Hymns of glory softly steal. 

And if still his heart rejoices 

O'er those strains so fond and true, 

May he bless the youthful voices 
That each year his praise renew. 



LINES WRITTEN IMPROMPTU ON HEAPING OF 
THE DEATH OF VISCOUNT MELBOURNE. 

Toll the sad bell, raise requiems o'er the bier, 

And let the nation drop its grateful tear ; 

The statesman's fled, his bright career is o'er, 

And crowds proclaim that Melbourne is no more ! 

But yet, if learning and a taste refined, 

If every virtue that adorns the mind, 

Could have a power to wrest from death its sting, 

Or turn the shaft whilst quivering in the sling, 

Thou, surely thou, the good, the pure in heart, 

Had st not fell victim to his iron dart ; 

Nor we, thy native land, been doomed to cry, 

Sad was the hour that saw the good man die* 



70 ON THE DEATH OF VISCOTTET MELEOTTKNE. 

Yes, Melbourne, yes ! thy generous deeds inspire 

My soul with ardour and my pen with fire ; 

I fain would paint, with more than human skill, 

Thine honest zeal, the soul-inspiring will 

Which taught thee, at the helm, with grace to guide 

The British ark with glory down the tide, 

And shed a lustre nought but worth can claim, 

A lustre that shall gild thy well-earned fame. 

In halls of grandeur, in the simplest cot, 

The patriot's name shall never be forgot; 

So long as Liberty asserts her right, 

And blest Reform is hallow' d in our sight ! 

Thus wast thou honour' d in thy public life, 
Thy mild behests kept England free from strife ; 
Thus doth Britannia mourn thy spirit fled, 
And twine her laurels for thy sacred head, 
Whilst I, the humblest of her votaries, try 
To waft thy glories e'en beyond the sky. 



HISTORICAL BALLADS. 



HAROLD; OE, THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 



PAET THE FIRST. 



THE OPENING-. 



A nobler pen than Bulwer's* sure, 

Could not set forth the fame 
Of him who for his country died, 

And left a glorious name. 

That noble work inspired in me 

An emulative fire ; 
I fain, tho' humbly, would set forth 

The virtues I admire. 

* (Sir Lytton Bulwer's Harold.) The reading of this splen- 
did work inspired my simple pen. 



7 2 ' HAEOLD ; OE, 

For Harold* was the pride and boast 

Of many a noble band ; 
And minstrels of his deeds did sing, 

Throughout the English land. 

For royal blood flow'd through his veins, 

And spurr'd him on to fame ; 
The Saxon and the Dane alike 

Heap'd blessings on his name. 

Aye, blessings on his noble head, 

And on his fearless heart ; 
Harold the Just the lustre gain'd, 

That glorious deeds impart. 

And yet he was so calm and mild, 

So gentle, yet so brave ; 
His meanest ceorl would not have fear'd 

A boon from him to crave. 

Yes, boon from out that warrior's hand, 
Whom fate foretold as king, 

* Harold was the second son of Earl Godwin ; he entered 
London with his father and five brothers in the month of 
May, 1052. 



THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS. 73 

Whene'er the meek and lowly prince* 
To heaven had taken wing, 

Who now sat on the English throne, 

And sigh'd o'er cross and bead — 
A king but in his outward garb, 

A saint in every deed. 

Thus Harold reign' d in every heart, 

And waited but the word, 
To be by one united voice 

To England's throne preferr'd. 

And right good cause had they to give 

Proud Godwin's son the crown ; 
His counsels sage, his valour bright, 

Kept war and carnage down. 

When Gryffthsf led his rebel band, 

And scared the border side, 
'Twas Harold's arm alone had power 

To quench the Welchman's pride. 

He led his troops through brake and brier, 
He forded lake and stream, 

* Edward, snrnamed the Confessor, 
f Gryffths, King of Camby. 



HAEOLD ; OE, 

In morning's ray and evening's light 
His battle-axe did gleam. 

He spar'd not valour to surprise 

The lion in his lair, 
That lion-king whose cruel heart 

Nor sex nor age did spare. 

Yet still, when hunted to the last, 
And pinch'd by hunger's throes, 

When Cambria's king in anger view'd 
His friends become his foes — 

When treason lurk'd on every side, 
And famine hover' d near — 

Then Harold with a generous heart 
Bade Gryffths cease to fear. 

And tho' the offer was in vain, 
And stern the warrior died, 

It proved the truth of Harolds heart, 
A truth that none belied. 



THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS. 75 

PAET THE SECOND. 

habold's LOYE. 
Thus Harold's star of glory rose, 

And brighter grew his fame ; 
While each succeeding year did add 

Fresh honours to his name. 

But honours are but empty words 

Compar'd with woman's love, 
That love which gives to man below 

The joys of heaven above. 

For Harold's hearth was cold and sad, 

The stately tree was bare, 
No gentle bride had been preferr'd 

The warrior's home to share. 

Yet none could say his heart was cold, 

Or Saxon maidens shy ; 
Ah no ! for Harold's fame had caus'd 

The fairest many a sigh. 

Proud Mercia's daughter (Ayldith fair) 

Wept sore within her bower, 
To think his stony heart could beat, 

Unconscious of her power. 



76 HAEOLD; OK, 

She little guess' d the chains that love 

Had woven round his soul, 
Or that his heart no longer own'd 

His undisguised control. 

She only mark'd the Saxon Thane 

Engag'd in war and strife — 
No whispering breeze betray' d to her 

The secret of his life — 

That every throb within his pulse 

Beat but for one alone, 
For whose dear sake he glory earn'd, 

For whom he wish'd a throne ; 

But whom religion's fatal ties* 

To join with him denied, 
And by its sternest ban forbade 

To take her for his bride. 

Yet Edithf was the fairest flower, 
The loveliest of his kin, 

* Githa, the mother of Harold, was cousin to Hilda, the 
grandmother of Edith, hy which link Harold and Edith came 
within the bounds of affinity prohibited hy the church.. 

f Edith's marvellous beauty gained her the epithet of Edith 
the Fair. 



THE "BATTLE OE HASTINGS. 77 

The best-belov'd of all his race, 
Untouch'd, unstain'd by sin. 

His earthly Fylgia born to be, 

She hover' d by his side, 
His guardian angel, pure and free, 

To quell his earthly pride. 

If thoughts of stern ambition rose, 

They vanish 3 d in her sight — 
Her gentle nature seem'd to lead 

His haughty soul aright. 

The god-child of that sainted queen 

Who thought a cloister' d shade 
The brightest and the holiest home 

To fit a Christian maid. 

But Edith had been fondly rear'd 

To be her kinsman's wife, 
While every feeling of his heart 

Was bound up in her life. 

Yet fate, whom none can turn aside, 

O'erpower'd their rising sun, 
$.n d stern decreed his chosen bride 

To be a cloister'd nun. 



78 HAROLD; OR, 

And time, who works his ceaseless round, 

Despite the good or bad, 
Saw Harold mount the English throne, 

And every heart be glad. 

PAET THE SECOND. 
THE PARTING. 

The shades of eve had slowly wrapt 

Each battlement and tower, 
As Harold stood by Edith's side, 

And mourn' d their parting hour. 

He listen' d to each faltering word, 

Each agonizing sigh, 
That burst, as vainly she essay' d 

To speak her purpose high. 

" Go, Harold, go ! I bid thee go, 

Nor think on me again ; 
Within a cloister's holy shade, 

I'll hush this bosom's pain. 

" Then go ! ere I repent the deed, 

And love asserts its sway — 
Go, and may glory crown thy steps, 

And valour lead the way." 



THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS. 79 

She paused ! but oh the words fell cold 

And chill upon his ear — 
The counsel that could bid them part 

Was fraught with doubt and fear. 

" It cannot be/' he madly cried, 

" I cannot leave thee here ; 
Edith, I part not with thy love, 

Till stretch' d upon my bier. 

" That love which in the darkest hour, 

Has been my joy and pride, 
To shield which, from the church's power, 

I would have gladly died. 

"Then what is glory — what is fame — 

Say what are crowns, but care, 
If you, my Edith, best belov'd, 

Are not with me to share ? 

"You bid me go where honour points, 

Where fame and valour lead ; 
You bid me, as your last request, 

For England's glory bleed. 

, " Now, Edith, hear my solemn vow, 
I swear it by yon cross, 



80 HAROLD; OR, 

I'll give up glory, fame and crown, 
But not survive thy loss." 

She laid her hand upon his arm, 

And made the sacred sign, 
Upon her face a holy calm 

Breath' d forth in every line. 

And when she spoke, her words were low, 
But, oh ! distinct and clear ; 

All earthly passion sure was fled, 
And thus she bade him hear. 

" You speak of earthly love, and say 

Your love continues still ; 
Then, Harold, show that love to me, 

By bending to my will. 

" I bid thee live for England's good, 

For England's good alone, 
I bid thee draw thy sword of might, 

And well defend the throne. 

" And I within my cloistered shade 

Will pray to God above, 
To watch o'er thee in battle field, 

And shield thee with His love. 






THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS, 81 

€t But should thy fortunes darkly frown, 

And unseen ills betide, 
Then, Harold, in thine hour of need, 

Thou'lt find me by thy side." 

She left him to his bright career, 

To live for fame alone ; 
She left him only for a time, 

To meet in worlds unknown. 

She cloth' d her beauty in the garb 

Of poverty and peace, 
And knelt before the shrine of Him 

Who bids our sorrows cease. 

And he, yes he, obey'd her word, 

And earn'd a deathless fame ; 
But soon his star of glory fell, 

And left him but the name. 

THE LAST PAB.T. 
THE BATTLE. 

'Twas evening : and the summer's sun 

Went down across a plain, 
Where many a soldier watch' d the rays 

He ne'er might see again. 



82 HAEOLD; OB, 

Two mighty armies waited but 

The rising of the same, 
To settle by the force of arms 

A long-disputed claim. 

The Saxon king had claim'd the throne, 
In right of England's voice — 

The Norman Duke put forth the plea 
That he was Edward's choice. 

Each urg'd his claim with stern resolve, 
Each threw his gauntlet down, 

Each buckl'd T on his sword of might, 
To win a brave renown. 

But woe betide the Saxon chiefs ; 

They'll be a conquer'd band, 
If William plants his iron foot 
In conquest o'er the land. 

Yet still they sang and feasted, 

Nor dreamt, of pain and care, 
While through the night till morning's light 

The Normans knelt in prayer. 

Then on came Harold's army, 
The noblest of the brave : 



THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS. 83 

On ! on they came with dauntless cry, 
Their household hearths to save. 

And steadily the Norman came, 

With courage quite as high, 
To win a crown or earn a grave — 

To conquer or to die. 

But what was human valour, 

And what was human pride, 
Unless the God of battles 

Espous'd the victor's side? 

The armies met ! The torrent's rush, 

That swells the mountain's tide, 
Ne'er swept with more resistless force, 

Than each chieftain in his pride. 

If Harold, with his dauntless arm, 

Wax'd victor for an hour, 
Duke William with his mighty strength 

Drove all before his power, 

Till Saxon chiefs bestrew' d the ground 

Like leaves in autumn strown ; 
The young, the noble and the brave, 

Scarce breath' d a parting groan. 

g2 



84 HAROLD ; OE, 

Yet still they fought untiringly, 

And still they fought in vain ; 
They fought until they saw their king 

Stretch' d dead upon the plain. 

Then a cry of mighty anguish 

Ascended on the gale ; 
It swept across each barren hill, 

It fill'd each verdant vale. 

It found an echo in the heart 

Of every Saxon born — 
The highest chief, the lowest ceorl, 

In bitterness did mourn. 

But oh ! their grief was useless, 

For on the Normans came, 
Elate with pride, to think their arms 

Had won undying fame. 

That day decided England's fate ; 

Her darkest star prevail' d, 
Her guardian angel sigh'd farewell, 

When Harold's valour fail'd. 

The Church proclaim' d Duke William's arms 
Upheld by heaven's grace, 



THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS. »D 

They crown' d him on the battle field, 
The first of all his race. 

And never from that hour to this, 

Have we been truly free ; 
From Norman rule sprang all the woes 

Our land was doom'd to see. 
But all throughout that fearful day, 

One beating heart was there,* 
And watch'd each wave of Harold's plume, 

In agoniz'd despair. 

One ear had caught the cries of joy, 

But ah ! they sooth' d her not, 
The dark forebodings of her heart 

Foretold his bitter lot. 

She pass'd the time in solemn prayer, 

'Till night came slowly down, 
Then, lighted by her pious guide, 

She sought the battle ground. 

Her angel form, her saintly garb, 
Struck many a dying eye, 

* It is confidently asserted that Edith left her monastery, 
and watched the fate of the battle at night. She, with the aid 
of the monks, sought Harold's body, and having found it 
breathed her last sigh beside him. 



HAEOLD ; OE, 

As earnest of the holy band 
That waited them on high. 

She hush'd her griefs to soothe their woes, 

Until there met her sight 
The form of him who all through life 

Had made existence bright. 

She utter' d not a single word, 

But calmly kiss'd his brow : 
No power on earth, no power above 

Could part the lovers now. 

It needed but one struggling sigh, 

One heaving of the breath : 
Though fate had parted them in life, 

They met again in death. 

THE EAEEWELL. 

Beneath a mound of softest green, 
Where nought of pomp or rank was seen, 

Was Saxon Harold laid ; 
And by his side, in close embrace, 
Laid Edith, loveliest of her race, 

Far from the cloister' d shade. 



THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS. 87 

She had been parted while in life, 
From him she lov'd, by care and strife ; 

Now death had given release ; 
And calmly slept they, side by side, 
Unconscious of the cares of pride, 

That once disturb' d their peace. 

No mitred bishop now had power 
To part them for one single hour, 

By ban or stern decree. 
Their griefs were fled, their sorrows gone, 
Their souls had sought a brighter morn, 

Where all was pure and free. 

And faithful tears bedew' d their bier, 
Tears shed by those who held them dear, 

And hung upon their life ; 
And as they laid the mighty low, 
They breath' d a curse upon the foe 

Who first began the strife. 

They curs' d the Norman in his hall, 
They wish'd him an inglorious pall, 

Defeat upon the field ; 
They pray'd until the latest hour 



HAEOLD ; OR, 

Their curse might cling, and by its power 
Distress and discord yield. 

And sure those prayers were heard on high, 
Where none can weep and none can sigh, 

Or plead or pray in vain ; 
For William's court in after-years 
Presented scenes of grief and tears, 

Of agony and pain. 

His children used their swords in strife, 
And aim'd them at each other's life ; 

His people were in arms ; 
The Saxon lords, to work them ill, 
Urged on his son's rebellious will, 

And life lost all its charms. 

And when at last death hover' d near, 
And call'd upon him not to fear, 

But quit this world for heaven, 
He fain was forc'd to sadly own, 
That not the splendour of a throne 

Had peace or comfort given. 

That Harold in his dying hour 
Was blest beyond the fragile power 



THE BATTLE OP HASTINGS. 

That mortals can bestow ; 
For he had gain'd a heavenly throne, 
Where sin and sorrow are unknown, 
Beyond the reach of woe. 

DIBGE OE THE SAXONS. 

Wail ye for Harold, the noble and brave, 

Wail for the hero laid low in the grave, 

Last of his race, to the Britons so dear, 

Harold the Saxon lies cold on his bier ; 

Wail ye his dirge with weeping and moan, 

For England her last day of freedom hath known. 

Last of the heroes who swept o'er the tide, 
Resistless as gods in their might and their pride, 
Last of the Danes and descended from Thor, 
Last of the Saxons the mighty in war, 
Harold lies stiff on the cold battle-field, 
Saxon to Norman for ever shall yield. 

Vain were thy efforts, oh Harold the brave ! 

Vain was thy valour, thy country to save ; 

Stretch' d on the battle-field, pierced to the heart, 

Never again to take England's part. 

In that fatal hour was seal'd by a blow 

The fate that the Saxon was destin'd to know. 



90 AEUNDEL CASTLE. 

Then wail ye thy hero, both Saxon and Dane, 
Wail loud o'er his relics that lie on the plain ; 
For the stranger has set his stern foot on the strand, 
And the Norman shall rule as with iron thy land. 
Then loud raise the wail, and the funeral pile, 
For the last of the Saxons that govern'd thine isle. 



ARUNDEL CASTLE— A VISION. 

Dedicated by especial Permission to the 

LADIES MAEY AND ADELIZA FITZALAN 
HOWARD. 

I mused upon the castle tower, 
'Till sleep o'erpower'd mine eyes, 

And then, as with a magic power, 
Strange fancies seem'd to rise. 

Time stopt the ceaseless flow of years, 
And backward turn'd his glass, 

While centuries, like glancing spears, 
Before me seem'd to pass. 

I look'd ; and lo ! fair Arundel 
Had faded into air — 



AEUNDEL CASTLE. 91 

The stately keep, the castle walls, 
Alone were standing there. 

I gaz'd into the vale below, 

And by the water's side — 
Where late I saw the haunts of man, 

An abbey flourished wide. 

Its flowery meads, its waving woods, 

Remote from sin and strife, 
Seem'd emblems of the faith of those 

Who vow to God their life. 

Yes, vow to God, in very deed, 

To give up rank and birth, 
And lowly at their Saviour's feet 

Lay down the joys of earth. 

And, farther in yon fairy vale, 

An undulating stream 
Reflected in her bosom pale 

The castle like a dream. 

All these seem'd present to mine eye, 

In lieu of church and town, 
And I stood on that stately keep, 

And gazed on all around. 



92 AETJ203EL CASTLE. 

The warder, with his measur'd tread, 
Paced up and down beside, 

And caroll'd forth a well-known air, 
Of some bold baron's pride. 

But soon he paused, for on the plain 
That stretch' d so fair and free, 

He saw what seem'd a cloud of dust, 
Or else a moving tree. 

But as it near'd the castle steep, 

He spied a goodly band, 
And on in front, a lady fair 

Rode up in proud command. 

They rode in haste, for very life, 
And reach' d the castle gate, 

When lo, it prov'd the Empress Maude, 
Bereft of all her state. 

She held Prince Henry by the hand, 

A sweet and lovely child, 
Who reck'd not that his native land 

Was torn by factions wild. 

She proudly hail'd the warder bold, 
Who lowly bent his head, 



AETJKDEL CASTLE, 93 

And bade him by his oath of old, 
To list to what she said. 

" Go tell thy queen — the Empress Maude 

Is standing at her gates, 
And ere she enters in her halls, 

For her permission waits. 

" Go tell her, that an Emperor's wife, 

The queen of these fair lands, 
Is flying for her very life, 

Pursu'd by hostile bands." 

" I'll do thy bidding, noble queen," 

The warder grave replied, 
" To shelter thee, my gracious liege, 

Will be our lady's pride. 

" But stand not there, while I depart 

To do thy sovereign will ; 
For thou and thine are much expos'd 
Upon the open hill." 

Queen Maude then bow'd her stately head, 

And came within the tower, 
While archers stood on either side, 

And own'd her sovereign power, 



94 AEUtfDEL CASTLE. 

But oh, not long had she to wait, 
For, quick as lightning's thought, 

Came forth the gentle widow' d queen, 
And hearty welcomes brought. 

She came, that fair and lovely queen, 

Serene in beauty mild, 
And welcom'd warm the harass' d Maude, 

And blest the lovely child. 

So sweet and graceful was her form, 

Such music in her voice, 
She seem'd more like an angel born, 

That liv'd on earth by choice. 

" Behold me !" said the haughty Maude, 

" Reduc'd to fly to thee ! 
Bereft of help, of every friend, 

I pray thee succour me, 

" If only for a single night, 
For Stephen's near at hand ; 

I've fled throughout this livelong day, 
Before his rebel band. 

" And I, to-morrow, will again 
Depart and shelter seek ; 



AEUKDEL CASTLE. 

I'll seek it at the cross of Christ, 
- Last refuge for the weak." 

Queen Adeliza look'd around, 

On all the castle band, 
Then spoke — " Behold our sovereign queen 

The queen of this fair land, 

" Before these walls shall cease to be 

A home for thee and thine, 
The owl shall hoot within its halls, 

And dead be me and mine. 

" The rebel Chief may hedge it round, 

And lay it stone by stone, 
Ere I give up my sovereign queen, 

And send thee forth to roam." 

She ceased ; then on the Empress Maude 

She laid her gentle hand, 
And bade her knights and men at arms 

B-espect their queen's command. 

And every knight and squire there 

Bent low his valiant head, 
And vow'd allegiance to her cause, 

Till earth should be their bed. 



96 ABTTKDEL CASTLE. 

Queen Maude had not a melting heart, 

Not given was she to tears, 
But now they seem'd to flow unbid, — 

Mementoes of her fears. 

She enter' d first the welcome hall, 
Young Henry walked behind, 

For much he lov'd the gentle queen, 
Whose accents were so kind. 

But could futurity have drawn 

The veil from off its face, 
How little would that gallant boy 

Have brook'd his son's disgrace ! 

To think among the barons bold, 

His kinsman's hand alone 
Compell'd King John to sign the deed 

That free'd the poor man's home. 

But, thanks to God, we do not know 
What fate may have in store, 

But rest contented with our lot, 
Nor dare to covet more. 

Peace reign' d throughout the castle halls, 
The tired wanderers slept ; 



AEUNDEL CASTLE. 97 

But while the household sought repose, 
King Stephen's army crept, 

And fix'd their post upon the plain, 

To hem the castle in — 
And morning broke, and the warder woke 

With the clatter and the din. 

Then rush'd forth warder, knights and all, 

To view the forces round ; 
But tho' they look'd both right and left, 

Its limits were not found. 

It spread, where'er the eye could see, 

In beautiful array ; 
It took a heart of metal stern, 

Not quite to flee away. 

And soon the news flew through the hall 

And reach' d the widow' d queen, 
That Stephen and his lawless band 

Could from her walls be seen. 

Then Adeliza hurried forth, 

And gain'd the castle tower ; 
Not often for that massive keep 

She left her sheltering bower. 



98 ARUNDEL CASTLE. 

But tlio' her gentle heart was cast 

In woman's choicest mould, 
When rous'd, at times she could exert 

A spirit warm and bold. 

Ay ! such a spirit as could awe 

The fiercest of her train ; 
They held her word a sovereign law, 

That ne'er was broke in vain. 

And such a spirit Stephen found 

In vain to bend or break, 
For three long weeks he lay around, 

And kept the towers awake. 

But gallantry at last prevail' d, 

His better self had power, 
And he agreed Queen Maude should leave, 

And seek some other tower. 

And further still, to guard from harm, 

He sent a troop of horse, 
To be her escort, safe and sound, 

Throughout the hostile force. 

I saw King Stephen's escort stand 
Beside the castle gate ; 



ABTTKDEL CASTLE. 99 

The proudest nobles in the land 
Upon the empress wait. 

And Maude came forth, with stately tread, 

But sad and dim her eye ; 
She could not leave the gentle queen ' 

Without a parting sigh. 

I saw her mount her palfrey steed, 

And slowly head the train ; 
I saw her pass through Stephen's camp, 

And reach the distant plain. 

And then a hand upon my arm 

Dissolv'd the pleasant dream ; 
I started, I was in the keep, 

And nothing could be seen. 

It was a dream, it pass'd away, 

And I alone was there ; 
The pageant that entranc'd my sight 

Had melted into air. 

And such is life, an empty dream, 

That lasts but for a day ; 
It shifts as 'twere a changing scene, 

And then we fade away. 

H 2 



100 ARUKDEL CASTLE. 

But social virtues, kindly deeds, 
Impress the path they tread ; 

Queen Adeliza's fame remains, 
Though ages long have fled. 

And dames as true, and maids as fair, 
Still bless the Howard name, 

And equally, from rich and poor, 
Respect and reverence claim. 

The virtues of the lovely queen 
Shine brighter still in them ; 

They're like the blossoms of the rose, 
And she the parent stem. 

And oh, that Heaven's choicest gifts 

May bless the youthful pair 
That now adorn that stately line, 

The sweetest flowerets there. 
But, as the poet truly said, 

There dwells in every heart 
Some lurking wish we fain would see 

Fulfill' d, if but in part. 

Oh, may thy wishes be fulfill' d 
Before they're breath' d by thee, 

And God, who both has power and will, ] 
Grant each a blessing free. 



ELEANOB OE CASTILE. 101 

THE POISONED ARROW; OR, ELEANOR OF 

CASTILE. 

The sun has sunk in Palestine, 

The moon has risen high ; 
A knight upon a coal-black steed 

Is riding quickly by. 

He rides to gain yon open plain, 

Where the Christians keep their post : 

He has fought his way unscath'd to-day, 
Through all the heathen host. 

Ride on, Sir Knight, thy welcome bright 

Thou earnest in thy hand, 
For thou art come from Joppa's shore, 

With news of thy native land. 

The rider eross'd the boundary line, 

He had reach' d an open tent, 
And before a knight of stately height 

His knee he lowly bent. 

" Rise up, Sir Knight, Sir Walter, rise, 

What news hast thou in hand 1 
Is my father well, do the people dwell 

In peace in my native land ? 



102 THE POISONED ARROW; OR, 

" The land was in peace, Sir Prince, 

When I bade its shores adieu ; 
The vassal eats at his master's board, 

The knights are bold and true. 

" This packet I bring from his grace the king 

For none but thy royal hand ; 
I have fought my way to thy tent to-day, 

Past all the heathen band." 

The prince the packet eager took, 

And cut the silken striDg ; 
When oh ! an arrow aim'd for death, 

Came rapid on the wing. 

The arrow has pierc'd the prince's breast, 

He has sunk upon the plain ; 
The knights gaze round, in wild amaze, 
To know from whence it came. 

His princess hears the frantic cries, 

And rushes from within, 
To see her husband stretch' d in death, 

And life begin to dim. 

" Draw near, my Eleanor, draw near, 
And hear my parting word ; 






ELEAN'OB OE CASTILE. 103 

For ne'er again, on battle field, 
This arm shall draw a sword, 

" And ne'er again my native land 

Shall glad these darksome eyes ; 
I little thought the assassin's dart 

Would cause my parting sighs. 

" Then lay my bones in this holy land, 

My heart carry back with thee ; 
And for the blessed Virgin's sake, 

Have masses said for me." 

He ceased, and fainting, sank again ; 

She looked in wild dismay ; 
A monk held up a crucifix, 

And bent his knee to pray. 

" Can nothing save his life ?" she cries, 

And gaz'd on all around ; 
"Will no one draw the poison out? 

Is none so faithful found V 

She clasped her hands in firm resolve, 

Then rais'd her streaming eyes ; 
" For the holy Virgin's sake above, 

In mercy hear my cries. 



104 THE POISONED ABEOW. 

" Grant me the grace his life to save, 

And if it cost my own, 
I will lay it down without a sigh, 

Or e'en a parting groan." 

Her lips are press'd upon his breast, 

The poison slow sucks out ; 
And the life came back to his fainting heart, 

And he slowly turn'd about. 

Yes, turn'd to bless his heroic wife, 

For the ease he quickly knew ; 
To bless her for the holy deed 

God gave her strength to do. 

And, Eleanor, thy virtues live, 

Though years have pass'd away, 
A theme for many a minstrel's song, 

From the past to the present day. 

For when children listen to the lays 

Of England's ancient glory, 
And tales are told of the Crusades bold, 

Comes thy oft-repeated story — 

How thou wert bless' d and prais'd through life, 
By thy husband bold and true, 



THE LEOPAED KNIGHT. 105 

And after death, how thy name was paid 
- More honour than woman knew. 

For death o'ertook thee on thy way, 

The stranger's home among, 
And many a tear bedew'd thy corpse, 

And masses were said and sung. 

And where'er they stray 'd, a cross was made, 

In honour to thy name ; 
And those signs still stand in our English land, 

In memory of thy fame. 



THE LEOPARD KNIGHT ; OR, THE FALSE SIGNAL. 

Adapted from Scoffs Tales of the Crusaders. 
PAET THE EIEST. 

It was on Acre's gallant strand, 

At the solemn hour of night, 
That the English flag waved lightly o'er 

The steps of a red-cross knight. 

His sable mail, in the moonlight pale, 

Set forth his stately form j 
And the glance so true, of his eyes of blue, 

Show'd he was nobly born. 



106 THE LEOPABD K1STGHT. 

Yes, he was as bold a knight 
As e'er a sword could wield ; 

He stood renown' d in the Christian camp, 
For deeds upon battle field. 

But no one knew from whence he came, 
To join King Richard's band ; 

His name and lineage were unknown, 
Throughout the Holy Land. 

And now he paces to and fro 

The little mound of green, 
And nothing but his faithful dog 

Can at his feet be seen. 

Sudden a sound comes through the air, 

A step is drawing nigh, 
And a tiny page, of tender age, 

Has met the knight's stern eye. 

But what doth cause that knight to start, 

And turn so deadly pale, 
And list with such a breathless air, 

As the page begins his tale ? 

' ' This ring I bring from my lady fair, 
She bade me give it thee, 



THE LEOPAUD KNIGHT. 107 

And made me swear by her golden hair, 
That none should be by to see. 

" And she waits, Sir Knight, in her bower bright, 

And lists for thy well-known tread, 
And has taken care that none are there — 

All is silent as the dead." 

The knight has kissed the ruby ring, 

He knows the faithful token ; 
"And can it be, my Edith fair V 

Those precious words has spoken ?" 

His king, his honour, are forgot, 

He thinks on her alone, 
On her who sent the fatal ring, 

To make her wishes known. 

With a light' ning step he follows quick, 

And gains the lady's bower ; 
But ah ! no Edith's waiting there, 

To keep the trysting hour. 

The knight is struck with sore amaze, 

The moon shines bright and clear, 
And he faintly knocks at her virgin bower, 

But it is in doubt and fear. 



108 THE LEOPAED KKEG-HT. 

" What brought thee here, Sir Knight, to me, 

At this unseemly hour ?" 
And he held her up the ruby ring — 

" It was this, my peerless flower." 

The colour forsook the lady's cheek, 

A faintness seiz'd her frame ; 
" That ring, Sir Knight, I never sent, 

But on me must rest the blame. 

"My royal mistress begg'd the ring — 

She must have sent it thee ; 
Oh it's a trick to bring thee here, 

Which they have play'd on me ! 

" Hie back, Sir Knight, as quick as light, 
Before thou art miss'd or seen ; 

And lest thou should be known to leave, 
I will haste me to the queen ; 

"And she shall gain King Richard's ear, 
And her thoughtless plot unveil ; 

I little thought when the ring I gave, 
It would such grief entail." 

The knight speeds back with, a heavy heart, 
Oh, sight to meet his eyes ! 



THE LEOPARD KNIGHT. 109 

The standard's gone, and his faithful dog 
Has sunk no more to rise. 

His folly now he sees too late, 

He knows he is betray'd ! 
Ah ! it is not a thoughtless trick, 

But a deeper plot is laid. 

One way remains his faith to save, 

Before his honour's lost — 
He must hasten to the king, and tell 

That he hath left his post. 

And if he deems his life should pay 

The forfeit of the same, 
Why, he stak'd it for his Edith's sake, 

And she will bless his name. 

PABT THE SECOND. 

King Richard in his tent is lying, 

His battle-axe by his side ; 
By night or day he never parts 

With that symbol of his pride — 

For not a soul in the Christian camp 
Can raise that axe on high ; 



110 THE LEOPAKD KNIGHT. 

Whoe'er would wield it o'er his head, 
His knightly spurs might buy. 

The leopard knight admission gains, 

He enters without fear ; 
King Richard starts from his broken sleep ; 

" Sir Knight, what brings thee here ? 

" Gave I not thee the post to guard 

Our standard bold and free ? 
Has aught befell that banner bright ? 

Speak out, Sir Knight, to me." 

The knight return'd King Richard's glance, 

By a look devoid of fear ; 
Yet when he spoke, his accents broke 

With sadness on the ear. 

" The standard's gone, and I am come 

My forfeit life to pay ; 
Ask me no question how 'tis lost, 

The cause I may not say." 

" And livest thou to tell the news ? 

And dar'st to bring it me ? 
Traitor ! my trusty battle-axe 

Shall make an end of thee !" 



THE LEOFAKD KNIGHT. Ill 

He rais'd the ponderous axe on high, 

The knight stood firm and bold ; 
Sudden, a rushing sound is heard, 

And the king relax' d his hold, 

For a female form has rush'd between, 

And sunk upon her knees ; 
Well might King Richard drop the sword, 

For it is the queen he sees. 

Her wavy locks of sunny gold 

Fell o'er her brow of snow, 
And her liquid eyes swam in pearly tears, 

As she spoke in accents low — 

" Oh ! spare his life, my gracious king, 

In mercy set him free, 
It was I who sent the fatal ring, 

But not me he came to see. 

" I sent it in the name of one 

Who is dearer than his life ; 
I did it for a harmless jest, 

Nor dreamt of mortal strife, 

" Then spare his life, my Richard dear, 
Oh spare his life, I pray !" 



112 THE LEOPAED KNIGHT. 

And she clasp'd her hands, and wrung her hair, 
Like one in deep dismay. 

11 Out of my tent this moment go," 

King Richard angry cries ; 
" Think I -will spare a traitor's life, 

For the sake of streaming eyes ?" 

" It's not a traitor's life you'll spare, 

King Richard, if you do, 
But a noble knight who hath serv'd thee well, 

And fought both bold and true. 

" When the fatal ring was sent to him, 

They sent it in my name : 
Hear me but tell the simple truth, 

And that will clear his fame. 

" By all the laws of chivalry 

He was bound to come to me, 
Whene'er I sent my signet ring, 

To say that I was free. 

" So not a stain can rest upon 

His honour as a knight ; 
I only grieve he should have held 

His Edith's fame so light. 



THE LEOPAED KNIGHT. 113 

" To think at this unwonted hour, 

With nought of peril near, 
He should be summon'd to my bower, 

A tale of love to hear." 

She ceas'd ; upon her lofty brow 

The colour died away ; 
Calmly she stood before the king, 

And inward seem'd to pray. 

" Thy life is spar'd !" King Richard cries, 

For a generous heart had he ; 
" I spare it ; not for woman's sighs, 

But because thou art bold and free. 

" For hadst thou made a backward step, 

Or quail' d beneath mine eye, 
My trusty sword had laid thee low, 

Ere thou had'st breath' d a sigh. 

" Then go, Sir Knight, in the tournay fight, 

Go challenge thy secret foe, 
Throw down thy glove for thy lady-love, 

And strike a stalwart blow. 

" Redeem thy name, and thy knightly fame 
Shall be spotless as before, 

i 



114 EICHAED CCETTE DE LION. 

And the terrible plight of this fatal night 
Shall never be spoke of more." 

The knight has left King Richard's tent, 

His tainted fame to clear ; 
And had I space for his deeds of grace, 

They should have record here. 

How, by the aid of his noble hound, 
He track' d the traitor knight, 

And laid him low by a stalwart blow, 
In the lists of the tournay fight. 

And when blest at last with Edith's hand— 

Lov'd boon for all his care — 
My leopard knight, if the tale runs right, 

Was Scotland's sovereign heir. 



TO THE 

HON. WILLIAM HENRY JOHN NORTH, 

Cfjui Itstcricat ISailatJ 

OF RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 
Is most gratefully dedicated, by his very obliged servant, 
JULIA TILT. 

A minsteel from the Holy Land 

Was wending on his way, 
And passing by a castle high, 

He tun'd his harp to play. 



EICHAED CXEUB DE LION. 115 

He tun'd it with a heavy heart, 

For when last the strain was rung, 
It was before King Richard's court, 

And the lion-king he sung. 

But now that brave and noble king 

Is in a dungeon laid, 
And the minstrel sigh'd o'er his bosom's pride, 

As his fingers o'er it stray' d. 

He thought of many a scene gone by, 

Of many a lady bright, 
Of many a song in Palestine, 

He'd caroll'd with delight. 

But those blithesome joys have pass'd away, 

And by a vow he's bound 
To rest him not, by night or day, 

Until King Richard's found. 

He has travell'd many a weary mile, 

Pass'd mauy a lady's bower, 
And cheer' d the warden by his song, 

On many a lonely tower. 

By night or day he plays but one, 
A sweet and plaintive strain, 

i2 



116 EICHAED CCEUR DE LI01ST. 

Iii hopes King Richard will respond — 
But his hopes are all in vain. 

The harp he sweeps with a pensive hand, 
And sings both sweet and clear ; 

Hark ! can it be an echo nigh, 
That falls upon his ear ? 

Is it a dream, or fairy spell ? 

For, floating on the air, 
A voice sends back the strain again, 

In tones both rich and rare. 

He listens breathless to the note, 
Which echo still repeats ; » 

His wanderings now are well repaid, 
And his heart with rapture beats. 

For glancing to the turret high, 

Whence those welcome notes are heard, 

Is fluttering from its stony loop, 
A signal like a bird. 

And then a voice he dearly lov'd, 

A voice both bold and true, 
Call'd him an old familiar name — 
" Say, Blondell, is it you ? 



EICHAKD CCETJE DE LICXN". 11 

" Say, is it thou, my minstrel true ? 
. • How welcome is thy strain ? 
I almost thought I ne'er should hear 
Those joyful notes again. 

" Six weary months I've been confin'd 

Within these dismal walls ; 
It seems to me a living death, 

Whilst pining in its halls. 

e< I left my band in the Holy Land, 

In the garb of a pilgrim gray, 
And was wending home to my native strand, 

When a traitor cross' d my way. 

" But if I'd had my trusty sword, 

With a score of archers brave, 
My axe, that never fail'd me yet, 

My freedom would have sav'd. 

" But a hostile troop waylaid my path, 

And brought me here by force, 
And shut me close in this turret high, 

Without feeling or remorse. 

" Now, Blondell, hear thy monarch's will, 
And bear to my native land 



118 EICHARD C(ETJE DE LIOK. 

The news that I am alive and well, 
But detain' d on a foreign strand. 

" And bid them, by the holy cross 

I rear'd in Palestine, — 
By the name of Mary's blessed Son, 

Of which it is the sign, — 

" By their princely halls and cottage homes, - 
By their castles proud and high, — 

By their morning prayer and evening hymn- 
Not to leave me here to die. 

" Bid monk and abbot, peer and knight, 

E'en burghers to combine, 
To raise sufficient to suffice 

To pay the heavy fine, 

"For the traitor prince who could conspire, 

The lion-king to hold, 
Will gratify his heart's desire, 

And sue for sordid gold. 

" But once let me be free again, 

My banner proud to rear, 
Their trusting faith I will repay, 

They shall have nought to fear. 



EICHAED CCETTE DE LIOF. 119 

" Then, Blondell, hie thee back again, 

Spare neither spur nor horse ; 
Speed quick and light, to our island bright, 

Each moment seems a loss." 

The minstrel knelt upon the ground 

As if in silent prayer, 
Then rais'd his cap, and from its shade 

Fell rings of golden hair. 

" Oh, Richard!" murmur' d forth a voice, 

In woman's sweetest tone, 
" Did not affection teach thy heart, 

That she who shar'd thy throne, 

" Could not forget the days gone by, 

The bright and happy years, 
The hours of joy, she'd spent with thee 

In sunshine and in tears ? 

" Thou left me in the Holy Land, 

But when the news arriv'd 
That thou hadst not reach' d thy native strand, 

I scarce the news survived. 

" And Blondell, who had taken sail 
From Joppa's sacred shore, 



120 RICHARD C(EUR DE LI<OT. 

Now quick return' d, and my bosom burn'd 
As I heard the tidings sore. 

" Then I made a vow at our lady's shrine, 

At our holy Saviour's tomb, 
That with harp in hand, as a minstrel bland, 

I would seek to know thy doom. 

" And, Richard, thou canst sadly feel 
How Matilda's heart would beat, 

When thy bosom's pearl to some hostel churl 
Drew near her weary feet ; 

" The scoffs and jeers, the taunts and sneers, 

I sometimes did endure ; 
But I did not care, whether foul or fair, 

Could I make my purpose sure. 

"And now, indeed, I'll haste me back 

To Windsor's sylvan bowers, 
Bid the barons bold draw forth their gold, 

And shorten thy weary hours." 

King Richard had fac'd many a field 

Of danger and of dread, 
And oft his fatal battle-axe 

Had strew' d the ground with dead ; 



BICHAED CCEUR DE LION. 121 

He had been in many an escalade, 

With death and peril nigh ; 
But never from his stony heart 

Had it drawn a tear or sigh. 

But now his iron soul o'erflow'd 

With feelings warm and kind, 
And his voice was weak, as he strove to speak 

The emotions of his mind. 

" And is it thou, Matilda true ? 

Or does my heart deceive ? 
Thou ! whom I've wept and pray'd to see ? 

I can scarce my sight believe. 

" Has God then listen' d to my prayer, 
• And sent thee here at last, 
To hearten up my cheerless cup, 
And make me forget the past ? 

" 'Tis said that woman's heart is fram'd 

Affection's self to hold, 
And that her love's a priceless gem, 

That ne'er is bought with gold. 

" That priceless gem thou'st been to me, 
Through many a stormy year ; 



122 EICHAKD CCEUB DE LION. 

For thy love burnt bright, like the stars of night 
My passage on earth to cheer. 

" The weary hours in these dismal towers 

I've spent as a captive lone, 
Are fading away, like the parting ray 

Of the sun, as I think of home." 

He ceas'd ; and when he spoke again, 

It was in a gayer tone ; 
" Matilda, we shall meet once more 

On our bonny English throne ; 

" And until that hour, may the blessed power 

Of the holy saints above, 
And the Virgin fair, hear my earnest prayer, 

And guard thee with heavenly love !" 

The lady has left that dismal tower, 

She has taken her harp in hand, 
And is speeding her way, as a minstrel gay, 

To reach the English strand. 

She told her tale by the moonlight pale, 

She has told it at dawn of day, 
And men cried shame on the dastard's name, 

Who would stop King Richard's way. 



THE LADY GODIVA. 123 

Each baron bold drew forth his gold, 

To set the captive free, 
And watch' d with delight for the moment bright 

When King Richard again they'd see. 

And history tells, how the merry bells 

Rang out from church and tower, 
When England's king once more did sing 

His lavs in his native bower. 



THE LADY GODIVA. 



Within a castle rich and rare, 

Some hundred years ago, 
A lady fair was sitting there, 

All bathed in hapless woe. 

Her hair it was of golden hue, 

And wav'd upon her knee ; 
Her face it was so fair to view, 

It charm' d the eye to see. 

And that lady fair with her golden hair, 

Had an eye of truest blue, 
And what is rare beyond compare, 

A heart both kind and true. 



124 THE LADY GODIYA. 

And she had lands and castles bright, 

And came of noble birth ; 
And many a lord and gallant knight 

Did homage to her worth. 

And yet that lady fair is sad, 

And a tear is in her eye ; 
Oh! why should one so fair and glad, 

Have cause on earth to sigh, 

Unless it is, as poets write, 

This world's a world of strife ? 
And the tale was true the lady knew, 

For she lack'd a happy life. 

She had left her convent's peaceful walls, 

To wed a lord of might, 
And she knew no care, that maiden rare, 

Her spirit was so bright. 

But soon a change came o'er her dream, 

Her laughter died away, 
And she who had smil'd like some seraph child, 

Did nought on earth but pray. 

For her wedded lord had a cruel eye, 
That frown' d on all around, 



THE LADY GODIYA. 125 

And the lady felt, with a bitter sigh, 
To a tyrant she was bound. 

For it is the lord of Coventry 

Whose deeds I sing in verse, 
And the lady there was Godiva fair, 

Whose praises I rehearse. 

PART THE SECOND. 

Long had the lord of Coventry 

Held cruel sway on all, 
And the burghers of his native town 

Bent low beneath his thrall. 

But nothing could induce this lord 

To think on others' pain, 
Or do to others what he'd wish 

Done back to him again. 

In vain the church it rear'd its head, 

And threaten' d direful doom ; 
They might as well have preach' d to one 

Laid silent in the tomb ! 

For little did that haughty lord 

Respect his mother church — 
He never thought of her at all, 

But left her in the lurch. 



126 THE LADY GODIVA. 

He levied taxes far and near, 

Presuming on his right ; 
There breath' d no man within his sphere 

That dare dispute his right. 

But on the town of Coven try 

His heaviest burdens lay ; 
They lasted through the livelong night, 

And through the livelong day. 

He'd tax them with a fine to-day, 

An impost on the morrow ; 
The hapless burghers knew no way 

To rid them of their sorrow, 

Excepting through his noble dame — 

His pure, angelic wife, 
Who wept in secret o'er their shame — 

Their miserable life. 

And every time her lord was gay, 
Or seem'd in Christian mood, 

She pleaded in the mildest way 
To do the burghers good. 

But neither tears nor prayers had power 
To melt his iron soul ; 



THE LADY GODIVA. 127 

Though lovely she as eastern flower, 
He spurn' d her mild control. 

Till last there came the heaviest fine 

That ever came before ; 
The luckless burghers night and morn 

Beset her castle door. 

The gentle lady wept to hear 

The story of their woe, 
And told her beads with many a tear 

That pity caus'd to flow. 

At length she made a firm resolve, 

Her lord to soften down, 
And plead with him imploringly, 

For Coventry's fair town. 

She pray'd an audience of her lord, 

And call'd on heaven to aid, 
To grant her courage for her speech, 

The last that could be made. 

PART THE THIKD. 

Y/ithin her husband's castle hall, 

While knights around him stood, 
His peerless dame from her chamber came, 

To melt his stubborn mood. 



128 THE LADY GODIVA. 

Six times she knelt, six times she pray'd, 

And bent her lovely head, 
And urg'd him by each patron saint, 

To list to what she said. 

At last, to rid him of her grief, 

Which vex'd him sore to see, 
He said, " Lady fair, 111 grant thy prayer, 

If you'll grant a boon to me." 

Then the lady clasp 'd her lily hands, 

And said, " Whate'er it be, 
Whatever boon thou dost require, 

I promise it to thee." 

Then laugh' d aloud this cruel lord, 

And said to all around, 
"Our lady sweet will quick retreat, 

When she hears for what she's bound." 

So he sent for a monk to come with speed, 

To hold his cross on high ; 
And his brow grew blank and his lady shrank, 

While her courage seem'd to die : 

For he took her hand, like marble cold, 
And clasp' d it in his own ; 



THE LADY G-ODIYA. 129 

" Now, lady fair, by this cross you swear 
To do my will alone." 

Then the lady dropped upon her knees, 

Before the holy sign, 
And said, " Here I swear, by each angel fair, 

To bend my will to thine. " 

Then that haughty lord advanc'd a step, 
~ And clasp' d his trusty blade ; 
" By this sword of mine, and yon cross divine, 
I swear the compact's made. 

* ' But if thou likest not my terms, 
Thou art free to withdraw thine oath, 

And then never again shall Coventry's name 
Be pass'd between us both." 

She bent her head in sign of assent, 

And waited her lord's command ; 
And not long did she tarry to learn her fate, 

For he spoke it out of hand. 

" What I mean to do thou shalt dearly rue, 

For thou hast provok'd me sore, 
And as thou lovest to see this town so free, 

Thou shalt ride its boundaries o'er ; 



130 THE LADY GODIYA. 

" For round the town of Coventry 

Quite naked thou must ride, 
Before these burghers I will free, 

Or by my oath abide." 

He turn'd away to hide a smile, 

For he did but speak to jeer ; 
But the lady rose from off her knee, 

And her glance was cold and clear. 

And few and short were the words she spoke, 
But they chas'd his mirth away ; 

His laughter fled, and his smile was dead, 
When he heard her simply say — 

" To save that fair and noble town 

From further grief and sorrow, 
Tho' harsh the terms thou dost lay down, 

I will ride round to-morrow." 

PAET THE EOTTRTH. 

The morning light began to break 

Across the waving trees, 
The birds were twittering in the brake, 

And fluttering in the breeze. 



THE LADY GODIYA. 131 

The castle lay in deep repose, 

The warder pac'd the keep, 
No sound from out its halls arose, 

Each soul was wrapt in sleep, 

Save in the fair Go diva's bower — 

No sleep had blest her eyes, 
And she look'd out of her stately tower, 

And bade her maids arise. 

For a snow-white steed stood at the gate, 

All ready for her hand ; 
The burghers' care had plac'd him there, 

To wait their dame's command. 

For all that night, in a dismal plight, 

The men of Coventry pray'd — 
In council met, they together sit, 

That lady fair to aid. 

And they toll'd the bell with a solemn knell, 

And made a stern decree, 
That whoe'er should dare to gaze on the fair, 

An instant death should see. 

And every house in Coventry 

Was closed to the basement floor, 

K 2 



132 THE LADY GODIYA. 

And not a soul throughout the town 
Had leave to pass their door. 

But Eve has left her withering mark 

On every child of earth, 
And curious as a learned clerk 

Each man is from his birth. 

And now within a tailor's breast 

The direful mischief grew, 
And he long'd, as for forbidden fruit, 

This lady fair to view ; 

For rumour vow'd she was lovely to sight, 

And would ride on a milk-white steed ; [bright, 

That her hair it was gold, and her eyes they were 
And none could her beauty exceed. 

Thus nothing could daunt his strong desire, 
Though threaten' d with direful pains — 

Not the fear of death could quell the fire 
That burnt in this tailor's veins. 

So abstracting a pane from a window high, 

He station 'd himself to view, 
And the bell toll'd one as his task was done, 

And he waited her coming through. 



THE LADY GODIVA. 133 



PAET THE FIFTH. 



The milk-white steed it paw' d the ground, 

And shook its graceful mane, 
And neigh' d at the gate for its precious freight, 

While she wept with her maiden train. 

For many the tears those maidens shed, 

As their lady prepared to go ; 
And each heart did bleed, as they dropp'd a bead, 

In sympathy for her woe. 

And they plac'd her with care on her steed so fair, 

And gather'd her locks of gold, 
While sweeping down, like an angel's crown, 

Each shining ring they fold. 

Yes, with womanly art they fold each part 

O'er her bosom of snow-white hue ; 
Save that flowing hair, old chronicles swear, 

Nought cover' d that lady true. 

But yet a charm preserv'd from harm 

That young and lovely dame ; 
Her spotless mind repose did find, 

In the heaven from whence it came. 



134 THE LADY GODITA. 

One glance to heaven, and one to earth, 

And one to her maiden train, 
And away, away, went that lady forth, 

To earn a deathless fame. 

And each true heart, as she did depart, 
Knelt on the clay-cold ground, 

And pray'd each saint to hear their plaint, 
And guard their mistress round. 

And little the Lord of Coventry dreamt, 
As he lay on his bed of down, 

That his lady-bird had kept her word, 
And was riding to save the town. 

On, on, she rode, that lady bright, 
And reach'dthe entrance gate ; 

But held her breath, for surely death 
In the city is keeping state. 

For no soul is seen, no sound is heard, 
Save the tramp of the horse's feet, 

Or the morning song of some distant bird, 
As she pac'd the silent street. 

All sure were fled in that town so dead, 
Each living soul was gone ; 



THE LADY GODIYA. 135 

No human voice had power or choice 
To break that silent morn. 

Yet still as she went she lowly bent 

Her young and lovely face, 
"While her golden hair in the morning air 

Shone out with matchless grace. 

And she look'd to the right and look'dto the left, 

And felt she was quite alone ; 
And she urg'd her steed to serve her need, 

And carry her safely home. 

But, lady fair, a mistake is there — 

You reckon without your host ; : 
For from dead of night until morning light, 

The tailor was at his post ; 

And never a knight in his armour bright 

Was possess' d of half the zeal 
As this tailor wight, throughout the night, 

For Coventry's dame did feel. 

He knew she would come at early dawn, 

And listen' d with breathless care, 
Till he heard the stamp, and the distant tramp, 

Of her steed upon the air. 



136 THE LADY GODIYA. 

One instant more, and shell pass his door, 
And he strain'd his anxious eyes ; 

As the horse went by, he thought a sigh 
From the lady seeni'd to rise. 

He saw her ride in her holy pride, 

And watch' d her out of sight, 
And a spark became a blazing flame 

In the breast of that tailor wight. 

But how they sped, and what they said, 

Serves many a fruitful theme, 
Though Godiva fair, and the tailor spare, 

Have pass'd like a summer dream. 

How her husband rude for pardon sued 

Before his peerless wife, 
And evermore, till his race was o'er, 

Heap'd blessings on her life. 

How her trials ceas'd, and she died in peace, 
While, in gratitude to her name, 

Fair Coventry's town, as the years come round, 
Doth celebrate her fame. 



joais or aec. 137 

JOAN OF .iRC— AX HISTORICAL POEM. 

Composed on viewing Ettij 's picture of the Maid of Orleans. 

PART THE ITRST. 

At the foot of the holy cross, 

At the tomb of the mighty dead, 
O'er her bleeding country's loss, 

A simple maiden pray'd. 

A simple village maid, 

That came of lowly birth, 
Who own'd no gifts, save what are free 

To every child of earth — 

A pure and spotless soul, 

A firm and steadfast will. 
An energy that spurn' d control 1 

A heart devoid of ill. 

All these, like hidden pearls, 

Were centred in the maid — 
But yet, except to village churls, 

They had not been display'd. 



13S JOAN OE ABC. 

But they were not born to fade, 

They were not born to die ; 
They were fore-doom' d the land to aid, 

And waft her fame on high. 
For throughout the age of chivalry, 

And past the lapse of years, 
The maid of Rouen, Joan of Arc, 

Is hallow' d by our tears. 
She's kneeling, and the painter's caught 
* The bright inspir'd eye, 

The uprais'd arm, the holy thought, 

The soul that cannot die. 
Yes, dauntless zeal breathes from her face, 

'Tis stamp' d on every line ; 
She seems inspir'd by heavenly grace, 

With energy divine. 
And Fancy waves her magic wand 

Across the painting cold, — 
The picture's fled, 'tis life we see, 

'Tis Joan renown'd of old. 

PAET THE SECOND. 

'Mid the rush of sounding arms, 
'Mid knights and warriors bold, 



JOAN OE AEC. 139 

111 the midst of war's alarms, 
That maid we now behold. 

Calmly on a snow-white steed, 

She holds her banner high — 
The sacred sign, at whose approach 

Its foes retreat and die. 

But still, tho' robed in victory, 

In snit of armour clad, 
The maiden glances o'er the scene, 

With an aspect dark and sad ; 

For beneath that breast of mail 

A woman's heart beats high, 
And her cheek is blanched, and her brow is pale, 

As she hears the dying sigh — 

Of many a noble knight; 

Of many an archer bold, 
Of many a boy who caroll'd light, 

But now lies stiff and cold ; 

Yes, cold beneath her feet ;' 

Their souls to heaven take flight, 
And she checks her speed, and reins her steed, 

Lest she crush them in her might. 



140 JOA^T OF ARC. 

Whilst beaming from her brow, 

Again the painter's caught 
The pure and holy soul 

With which the face is fraught. 

Yes, fraught with holy zeal, 
With joy from heaven above, 

The maiden waves her magic steel, 
And glances down in love. 

And little did she dream, 

In that hour of fame and glory, 

That a martyr's death would end the scene, 
And close her earthly story. 

PART THE THIRD. 

Again that maid we view, 
But oh, how changed her fate ! 

Blush, England ! blush, to think that you 
On a woman reeked thy hate. 

Bound to the stake she stands, 
While, crossed upon her breast, 

Her meek and lowly hands 
Proclaim her soul's at rest. 

If there was earthly cloy, 
Or aught of earthly fame, 



JOAF OP AEC. 141 

That inspired that simple maiden 
- To gild her humble name- 
In the sadness of that hour, 

It pass'd like dross away ; 
Nor earthly pride, nor earthly fame, 

Inspires her soul to-day. 

She prays to heaven for strength, 

She prays to heaven for aid, 
She prays for a crown of martyrdom, 

For joys that cannot fade ; 

Whilst near the blazing pile, 

Before her dying eyes, 
A monk holds up the cross of Christ, 

And points beyond the skies. 

And in that hour of need, 

God heard the sufferer's cry — 
The pitying angel bore her prayers 

To Him who reigns on high. 

From earth to heaven they rose/ 

They reached th' Almighty's throne, 

And quicker than the lightning flies, 
That angel whisper' d Joan — ■ 



142 FAIR ROSAMOND; OR, 

" Weep not, tlio' sad thy story, 
Hush, hush thy dying breath, 

In heaven a crown of glory 
Awaits thee after death." 



FAIR ROSAMOND; OR, WOODSTOCK BOWER. 

It was eve, upon a summer's day, 

Fair Rosamond in Woodstock lay, 

And watch' d, with deep and calm delight, 

The shadows of approaching night : 

For, as the light began to dim, 

Came back the rapturous thought of him, 

The idol of her doting heart, 

So sweet to meet, so hard to part. 

But so it was ; in stern disguise 

She liv'd, wrapt from those jealous eyes 

WTiich strove to pierce the mystery through, 

That shrouded Woodstock's bower so true. 

One infant lay upon her breast, 

Another, sunk in balmy rest, 

Shed o'er the spot a holy calm, 

That might the sternest heart disarm ; 



WOODSTOCK EOWEE. 143 

For sure to infancy is given 

A charm that never can be riven ; 

The cherub form, the seraph eye, 

So like the angel-forms on high, 

That minister to God above, 

Inheritors of realms of love ; 

Oh ! childhood is, beyond compare, 

Emblem of all that's good and fair. 



But yet within that bower of green, 
It was a lonely life I ween, 
For one who might have been a queen, 
To while away the weary day, 
With nought to do but watch and pray- 
To watch and bind the silken clue, 
And pray her Henry might be true ; 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 
To guide her slender fingers fair ; 
Else take her infant son in hand, 
And bid him by his brother stand, 
And bravely fight with sword in hand, 
For it might please the God above 
To take her to himself in love, 



144 FAIR ROSAMOND ; OE/ 

And then he would be left at large, 
And careful guard his youthful charge. 
While in that strain time pass'd away, 
And shorten'd many a lengthen' d day; 

But now the falling of the leaves 
Her fond and trusting heart deceives, 
And soft she lifts her eyes of blue, 
To meet her Henry, bold and true. 
But ah ! no Henry meets her eye, 
A female form is standing by, 
Who gazed with dark, portentous frown, 
As, glaring on the scene around ; 
Her eye, if glance of eye could kill, 
Fell upon Rosamond cold and chill, 
Who clasp'd her infant closer still, 
And gaz'd upon her stranger guest, 
With fear that could be ill repress' d. 
While thus the lady raised her hands, 
And spoke her dark and dire commands : 

in. 
" Behold, thou minion of a king, 
His wife, whom thou hast dared to sting ; 
Who, while you won his noble heart, 
Felt slighted love's severest dart, 



WOOBSTOCK BOWBB. 145 

And pined within her palace drear, 
While thou by spells enchain' d him here. 
See, I have won the fatal clue, 
And now my vengeance falls on you ; 
Lay down that child of guilty love, 
And make thy prayer to God above ; 
Then take thy choice, be quick and hear 
My words, for they are words of fear ; 
The poison'd bowl, the poniard bright, 
Shall send thy soul to shades of night ; 
A warning dark to such as you, 
Of what Queen Eleanor can do." 



Who that hath seen the waters play 
Unruffled on a summer's day, 
So calm and clear the ocean lay, 
Sudden a tempest darkens o'er, 
The waters calm are calm no more, 
The fairy skiff that seem'd to glide 
Like life upon a summer tide, 
Is toss'd upon the stormy wave, 
Without a hope or chance to save ; 
So Rosamond, in deep dismay, 
Has sunk upon her knees to Dray — 

L 



146 FAIE KOSAMOND ; OE, 

To pray that God may grant her power 
To save her in that awful hour. 
Then humbly to the queen she spoke, 
And thus her lowly accents broke : — 

Y. 

" Oh ! queen, if ever mercy stole, 
And shed its influence o'er thy soul ; 
If ever peace you hope to win, 
Stain not thy hands with such a sin. 
Remember that, whate'er my crime, 
The shame must fall on me and mine ; 
Then hear a suppliant mother's prayer, 
And, for my infant boys so fair, 
Take not the life thou canst not give, 
But grant me grace on earth to live, — 
To rear them up to bravely fight 
For honour and their country's right. 
Think on thy own, so nobly bred, 
Bring not a curse upon their head, 
By cutting short my youthful prime, : 
And sending me before my time." 

YI. 
She ceased, and sank before the queen, 
"Who stood erect with darken'd mien. 



WOODSTOCK BOWEB. 147 

So might the fond and faithful dove 
Implore the kite to save her love, 
As Rosamond have hopes to melt 
That heart which never mercy felt. 
She gaz'd upon her victim long, 
To glut her hatred deep and strong ; 
Then spnrn'd her with unbending look, 
And bade her listen as she spoke : 



" I came not here thy sins to hide, 
Nor have my purpose turn'd aside ; 
No tears, no prayers, avail thee now. 
I have vow'd, and I will keep my vow, 
That ere to-morrow's sun shall rise, 
The sleep of death shall close thine eyes ; 
One choice alone remains to thee — 
Nay, rise from off thy guilty knee — 
This instant choose ; the bowl or knife 
Shall end the struggle of thy life." 

YIII. 

It is a saying often told, 
Confirm' d by many a story old, 

l 2 



148 FAIB EOSAMOlfD. 

That when the clouds are black as night, 
And darkness shrouds the heavens bright, 
While thunder echoes o'er earth's ball, 
The hand of God is seen through all : 
So in the midst of all her fear, 
The powers above sustain' d her here. 
She kiss'd her children o'er and o'er, 
And pray'd, when she should be no more, 
That God would guard their youthful days, 
And shield them both from evil ways, 
Then rais'd the poison' d bowl on high, 
And drain'd it down without a sigh. 
The heavy sigh is o'er at last, 
The bitterness of death is past. 



And Woodstock bower in ruins fell, 
And nothing now remains to tell 
Of her who met that fearful doom, 
That sent her to an early tomb ; 
Though many a tale and legend old 
Say still, within a convent cold, 
She linger' d out a weary life, 
A victim to a jealous wife. 



MABY OE SCOTLAND. 149 

And Eleanor, whom all must blame, 
Remains a blot on woman's name, 
And never mention' d but with shame. 
She lived unlov'd, uncar'd-for died, 
A monument of sin and pride. 



MARY OF SCOTLAND.— A POETICAL ROMANCE. 
Mi tale begins : — Within a convent shade, 
Was rear'd the fairest and the loveliest maid — 
The noblest of the youthful train around, 
Within those sacred walls her cares were bound ; 
Pleas' d with her lot, joy sparkled in her eye, 
Scarce had her bosom learnt to heave a sigh, 
Life was to her a stream of golden light, 
No sorrow stepp'd between its morn and night. 

My tale revolves : — It is a brilliant court, 
Where knights and nobles gallantly resort, 
A queen their mistress, by whose sovereign skill 
Kingdoms and crowns bend equal to her will. 
Catherine de Medicis, proud but fearful name, 
Two different characters has left to fame ; 
One as a friend of genius, taste refin'd, 
The other a disgrace to woman-kind. 



150 MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 

But now she stands and gazes on a scene 
That but for her, perchance, had never been. 
A bridal train awaits her signal look, 
The mitred priest unfolds the holy book 
To bless the youthful bride, a queen by birth 
The fairest form that ever trod the earth, 
For whose rare loveliness, the pride of France, 
A thousand warriors strove to break a lance. 

Again my tale is turn'd : — In naval pride, 
A stately vessel nears the ocean side, 
A lady sits on deck and gazes o'er 
The waste of waters she must soon explore ; 
Sadly she leaves that fair and fruitful land, 
And takes her last fond look upon its strand, 
Then turns her thoughts unto her native shore, 
And dries her tears, resolv'd to weep no more. 

Again the scene is changed : — "With magic glance, 
Fair Scotland's pride are leading to the dance, 
Queen Mary beckons with a gesture bland, 
And mirth and music rise at her command : 
While Darnley turns with rapture on her face, 
As if transfix' d with her transcendent grace ; 



MAET OE SCOTLAND. 151 

But at that hour, though rank and pomp surround, 
Her darkest angel shook his wings around, 
And every direful planet from ahove 
Denounc'd in secret that ill-fated love. 

'lis chang'd again : — In Holyrood's high tower, 
The queen sits pensive in her lonely bower, 
While fancy wanders back o'er many a scene, 
And joys long fled come shadowing like a dream ; 
When her lov'd name in tournay or in dance 
Awoke the noblest hearts that were in France, 
To deeds of chivalry, to prowess high, 
The recompense from her a smile or sigh. 

Now all is changed : — alone in that cold land, 
Though born to rule, few smile at her command ; 
Jealous of both her beauty and her power, 
The shades of darkness o'er her seem to lower. 
But one resource her languor doth beguile, 
And serves to soothe or raise the long-lost smile ; 
Rizzio, whose magic voice and tuneful lyre 
Now melts the soul, now kindles martial fire ; 
Yet as he sings to drive her cares away, 
His hours are number' d as the short-liv'd day. 



152 MAET OF SCOTLAND. 

E'en then his foes are closing in a band, 
Close to the door, where, at the queen's command, 
His silvery tones float melting on the air, 
And drown in melody each thought of care. 
Quickly he's seiz'd ! in vain he sued for aid, 
In vain his royal mistress wept and pray'd — 
Deaf to her cries, steel' d to her deep despair, 
His foes turn sullen from her anguish' d prayer ; 
Till, rous'd to what her state and rank demands, 
Sudden she awes them by her stern commands — 
" I'll weep no more, my woman's tears resign, 
And vengeance dark and deep shall still be mine." 

The scene is chang'd : — Upon a lonely lake, 
Whose dismal waters still and silent break, 
A noble castle rears its massive walls, 
Where dwelt the stately Douglas in its halls : 
But at that moment, in a chamber high, 
Sat Mary Stuart with a flashing eye 
And haughty brow, as with a deadly frown 
The rebel chiefs encircled her around, 
And strove, by menace and defiance plain, 
To make her sign the parchment, but in vain ; 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 153 

'Till Ruthven, with a fierce and bitter cry, 
Seizing her wrist, said, " Sign it, or you die !" 
Then Mary took the pen and dash'd her name, 
With queenly pride that long shall live to fame, 
And turn' d and spoke, " You see this paper sign'd, 
In which I've kingdom and a crown resign' d ; 
But were I free, the quivering name should be 
The archives where I'd lodge both it and thee !" 

It is Langside Queen Mary's gazing o'er, 
That field of carnage darkly strew' d with gore : 
Fled are her hopes, all chance of victory flown, 
She stands bereft of country, friends, and home : 
But oh, a deeper grief awaits her now, 
And bitter tears bedew the dying brow 
Of him who served her with his heart and hand, 
The noble Douglas, flower of Scottish land ! 
Bleeding he lies upon that fatal field, 
His hopes on earth, but not in heaven, are seal'd. 
For kneeling at his feet, in sacred guise, 
The priest upholds the cross before his eyes, 
And proffers to his lips the holy rite, 
While Mary gazed upon her dying knight, 
Who murmur' d forth, his hand upon his blade, 
" Had I ten thousand lives they'd be repaid, 



154 MAET OF SCOTLATn). 

Ah, richly paid the sacrifice of all, 

Were thou but near to see thy warrior fall !" 

Years have pass'd by since my last strain was rung- 
Queen Mary's name has died on every tongue ; 
Her wrongs, her sorrows, are alike forgot, 
Calmly she hVd, nor murmur' d at her lot, 
Full eighteen years since Fotheringay's dark walls 
Receiv*d its noble prisoner in its halls. 
But e'en a life of calm, a death of peace, 
Where all must end, and strife and struggle cease, 
Is now denied, and her life must pay 
The penance of her sins, be what they may. 

The fatal morn arose in tears and sighs, 
Dissolv'd in grief, all nature seem'd to rise ; 
Calm she came forth, surrounded by a train 
Of weeping maidens, who but wept in vain, 
While every eye was bent upon a face 
That still retain' d its loveliness and grace. 
For never, in her days of glory fled, 
When charms like hers a magic lustre shed — 
Not in the splendour of her bridal hour, 
Not in the summit of her earthly power, 
Did Mary look more beautiful than now ; 
The touch of sadness on her chisell'd brow, 



MAET OF SCOTLAND. 155 

As, kneeling to the crucifix on high, 

She pray'd for constancy and grace to die, 

Then blest the chastening hand that laid her low, 

And bent her spirit meekly to the blow, 

To Him whose mercy call'd her to her home, 

To leave an earthly for a heavenly throne. 

And such was Mary's fate, a lesson stern, 
That kings and princes are but loth to learn ; 
Not all her beauty and her charms of mind, 
Not all her talents and her taste refin'd, 
Not pride of birth, a long descent unstain'd, 
Not tho' a sovereign queen she once had reign' d, 
Could now avail her in her dying hour ; 
She felt how transient and how slight their power. 
A want of prudence was her only foe — 
It caus'd her ruin, and it laid her low. 
Had Mary been as wise as she was fair, 
Her factious foes had melted into air : 
Their guilty plots had on themselves recoil' d, 
And all their baneful schemes been quickly foil'd ; 
She ne'er had lost a kingdom and a throne, 
Nor suffer' d death unfriended and alone. 



SACRED POEMS. 



LUTHER'S DREAM. 



'Tis midnight hour, in sleep I close my eyes, 
And scenes of other worlds before my sight arise ; 
Sunk is my frame in deep and calm repose, 
Hush'd are my earthly cares and earthly woes ; 
All save the never-dying soul's at rest, 
That God-like essence which pervades the breast. 

Sudden a dream my lingering sense enchains, 
I seem to wander o'er immortal plains, 
The bright perfections of eternal grace 
Are stamp'd for ever on that glorious place, 
While angels pass before my dazzled eyes, 
Each bound to earth ere morning's light arise. 

I turn'd and spoke unto my heavenly guide, 
Who saw the wandering glance, and thus replied- 



lttthee's dee am. 157 

"Mortal, that angel band is bound for earth, 
To guard each infant spirit from its birth, 
For know you not, the soul so bright and fair, 
Though born to die, is heaven's immortal heir ? 

" See you the foremost, with the down-cast eyes, 
His lot on earth is one of tears and sighs ; 
His guardian care is destin'd to attend 
A boy, whose haughty spirit ne'er shall bend, 
Till, shorn of riches and the pomps of life, 
He sinks unhonour'd in a world of strife. 

"That spirit, with a mild and placid mien, 
Must watch the steps of poverty unseen ; 
The child of sin, dishonour's only heir, 
Shall be that guardian angel's heavenly care ; 
His infant charge is fraught with every woe 
That strews the path of mortal man below. 

" And that bright being, on whose azure wings 
O'er the hush'd world eternal glory flings, 
Is bent a royal infant to defend 
From every sorrow that the world can send ; 
And in the thoughtful brow and steadfast air 
Are seen already signs of future care." 



158 HAGAE AND ISHMAEL. 

" But see ! that spirit radiant with delight, 

Say what his mission from the world of light? 

If royal pomp give but an air serene, 

What charge on earth inspires that heavenly mien ? 

Is it some saint from earth to heaven he'll guide, 

That swells yon angel with immortal pride V* 

" Mortal, you guess but ill the joys of heaven, — 
To that bright star the holiest task is given — 
The task of bringing back unscath'd from earth 
The infant spirit from its hour of birth ; 
Thus to bring back, the dying soul is blest, 
For death's the passage to immortal rest." 



HAGAR AXD ISHMAEL. 

PAET THE EIEST. 

The sun has set on Sharon's plain, 
O'er waving fields of golden grain ; 
Has set upon that sainted sod, 
Where angels spoke and prophets trod. 
At eve it set — a glorious sight, 
But ere it rose in morning light, 
The patriarch stood before his tent, 
His stately form by sorrow bent : 



HAGAE AND ISHMAEL. 159 

For he must send his first-born child 
To wander in the desert wild ; 
And Hagar too must leave her home, 
And both go forth to scenes unknown. 

*Tis true an angel had declared 

That Ishmael's days they should be spared ; 

That though he went in pain and woe, 

His youthful frame no harm should know, 

But from his loins a race should spring, 

Yfhose deeds throughout the world would ring — 

A nation mighty in their fame, 

To proudly hand down Ishmael's name. 

But now the parting hour was come, 
His heart with pain and grief was wrung ; 
It chill' d his soul to part with those 
Who shar'd his joys and felt his woes. 
But God on high forbade their stay, 
And Abraham dared not disobey ; 
So, rousing Hagar from her sleep, 
He sent them forth alone to weep. 

" Hagar come forth, the boy awake, 
Ere Sarah's hours of rest shall break ; 



160 HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. 

Go forth, thy God will guide thy way, 
A shield by night, a guard by day ; 
Where'er thy wandering footsteps bend, 
May angels watch thee and befriend !" 

She took young Ishmael by the hand, 
And turn'd to seek another land ; 
She went, that lonely mother went, 
The God of Abraham saw her sent, 
And mark'd where'er her path might lead, 
To aid her in the hour of need. 

PART THE SECOND. 

Beneath the shade of yon dark wild, 
Sat Hagar watching o'er her child ; 
The lifeless form, the closing eye, 
Told death in all its horrors nigh ; 
Full three long days they'd wander'd lone, 
Since driven from the patriarch's home, 
Since Sarah's mandate, dark and high, 
Had sent them forth alone to die. 

Bitter the cry, and deep the wail, 
That rose upon that desert gale ; 
For Hagar felt that Ishmael's hours 
Were fading fast like tender flowers ; 



BAGAE AST) ISHMAEL. 161 

That he, her darling and her pride, 
For whom she lived, and would have died 
To spare his soul one hour of pain, 
Would never rise from earth again. 

No ! stiffen' d at her feet he lay — 
Gone was the smile, so bright and gay, 
That used to greet her fond embrace, 
And light with love his youthful face. 
Sunk in the deep and heavy sand, 
His tottering limbs refus'd to stand; 
The mother turn'd her gaze away, 
And strove to rouse him as he lay. 

" Ishmael ! my child, awake, arise — 
Oh God ! he'll die before my eyes ; 
Is there no help, no water near, 
No hand to succour in my fear ? 
Oh, cruel father, who could send 
Thy first-born son to such an end ! 
Was it for this I bore my child, 
And watch' d his infant slumbers mild ? 
Gave him to haughty Sarah's care, 
Content the handmaid's lot to bear ? 
That he the promised flocks might gain, 
And over Israel's kingdom reign V 

M 



162 HAGAE, AND ISHHAEL. 

Is it the rising of the sand, 

That falls on Hagars ear 1 
Or a bird of prey from some distant land, 

That touches her soul with fear ? 

She turns : — can her eyes believe their sight ? 

For an angel form is nigh ; 
He stands like a being of joy and light, 

That has left his native sky, 
To succour that friendless mother, 

And raise her fainting child ; 
And his voice, like music's murmur, 

Fell sweet on the desert wild. 
" Hagar, arise ! thy God is near, 
Attend ; oh ! wherefore didst thou fear ? 
Ishmael shall live, shall live to reign, 
And found a great and mighty name ; 
His race shall spread o'er all the land, 
Where'er they go — a warlike band ; 
Shall live till time's remotest hour, 
Unchang'd their state, unbent their power." 
The angel pointed to the rock — 
Before, it seem'd a solid block, 
But now the gushing stream distils, 
And rises in a thousand rills ; 



HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. 163 

Her grateful heart o'erflow'd with praise, 
To God who thus had spar'd his days ; 
She knelt with Ishmael on the sand, 
And clasp' d his parch' d and burning hand, 
Then raising high her voice in prayer, 
Address'd the God of light and air : — ■ 

" God of Abraham ! grant me grace 

To bless thy saving care ; 
To bless thy name in every place, 

And raise a grateful prayer. 

" When Hagar's mingled with the dust, 

And Ishmael' s days are run, 
Thy glories, Lord, they'll not forget, 

But hand from sire to son. 

" When unborn nations shall arise, 

And celebrate thy name, 
When all beneath th' ethereal skies 

Adore their God the same — 

" Then Hagar's wrongs, and Hagar's tears, 

Shall still remember' d be, 
And through the ceaseless flow of years, 

Cause all to worship thee." 



164 



JACOB. 

The western clouds are steep'd in gold, 
The sun to ocean's cave has roll'd, 
The earth reflects the deepening glow, 
The trees their lengthen' d shadows throw 
O'er many a hright and verdant flower, 
That might have graced an angel's bower. 
The flocks that whiten o'er the plain, 
The cultivated fields of grain, 
Tell that the hand of man has made 
An Eden of the forest glade ; 
All nature seems to rest from toil ; 
Her weary sons who dig the soil, 
Pleas' d that their daily task is done, 
Sing welcomes to the setting sun. 
And Jacob, who had wander'd lone, 
Full many a lengthen' d mile from home, 
Rests him beneath the forest trees, 
And calmly courts the evening breeze ; 
While gazing on the scene around, 
He listens to the cheerful sound 
Of maidens with their silver strains, 
Of cattle lowing o'er the plains : 



165 



While home, that blessed sound of peace, 

Whispers his journey soon will cease. 

Should Laban's tents prove near at hand, 

He will not miss his father's land ; 

Though sent to live in exile long, 

Till Esau's rage, so swift and strong, 

Should by Jehovah's will be turn'd 

Into the love that once had burn'd 

Between them, like a holy shrine— 

A blessing from the power divine. 

But Jacob's thoughts return again 

To scenes of mingled bliss and pain ; 

When Esau, in his pride and joy, 

Went forth to shoot — a gleesome boy ; 

And he himself, with flocks and herds, 

Spent days amid the flowers and birds ; 

But, when they both to manhood rose, 

Strife stept between and made them foes ; 

Esau forsook his former life, 

And took a heathen maid for wife ; 

His birthright for a pottage sold, 

Nor lov'd his brother as of old. 

Then came the days when God's commands 

Gave Isaac strength to lay his hands, 



166 



And bless his first-born ere he died, — 
Esau, his darling and his pride. 
But Jacob, by his mother's care, 
Received the blessing as his share. 
She saw, as with prophetic eye, 
Visions of future grandeur lie 
Hid, it is true, from human sight, 
But sure as fate to burst to light. 
Yet, when the deed was past and done, 
She trembled for her favourite son ; 
For Esau did not calmly stand 
And see it snatch' d from out his hand ; 
He vow'd a vengeance deep and high, 
That Jacob by his hand should die. 
How dreadful ! if a brother's knife 
Should rob her chosen boy of life ! 
And Jacob, as he lay reclined, 
View'd all these things within his mind, 
Mused on the days and scenes gone by, 
And strengthen' d memory with a sigh,— 
When a slight rustle in the leaves, 
Turn'd his attention to the trees, 
And there an object he survey'd, 
That well his curious glance repaid. 



167 



A female form had reach' d the well, 
Her charms no mortal pen can tell — 
The laughing eye of liquid blue, 
The rounded forehead's snowy hue, 
The hair that shone like rings of gold, 
Was bound in many a graceful fold ; 
Her step might shame the wild gazelle, 
That lightly skims o'er plain and dell ; 
She seem'd, to Jacob's raptur'd eye, 
A being from the world on high ; 
He could not deem this lower earth 
Could give so fair a creature birth ; 
But when her voice in music broke, 
His heart was raptur'd as she spoke. 

" Stranger ! what brings thee lonely here 1 

Say, would' st thou drink the waters clear ? 

To-night it is my turn to fill 

The vessels from yon silver rill ; 

Then drink, and if thou'rt tired of change, 

Or know'st not where thy steps to range, 

I'll lead the to my father's home, 

And he shall bid thee cease to roam ; 

For Laban opens hand and heart, 

To give his fellow-creatures part 



168 



Of all beneath his lowly tent, 

And shares the gifts that God has sent.' 

"Maiden," replied the blushing youth- 
Fair mirror of angelic truth — 
"To Laban's home my steps are bent, 
A wanderer from my father's tent ; 
Thou seest before thee Isaac's son, 
And by Rebekah's wish I come, 
To sit beside thy father's board, 
And take whate'er he will afford ; 
For Isaac's days are nearly fled, 
He soon will number with the dead ; 
But God, the fountain of all love, 
Whose glory fills the space above, 
Gave to the patriarch in a dream, - 
Visions, his race were to redeem ; 
And bade him bless, before he died, 
The first-born of his joy and pride : 
The lot was Esau's claim by right, 
But Isaac's age had dimm'd his sight, 
And, by a slight deceit, I gain'd 
The blessing that my brother claim'd. 
That blessing is to raise my name 
And seed to an immortal fame ; 



169 



And more than that, within it lies 
The mystery of mysteries." 

He ceased, but found himself alone, 
The youthful maid had quickly flown, 
To spread the wondrous tale at home, 
To pour in Laban's simple ear 
The news that Isaac's son was near, 
And hastening with her father back, 
To guide him o'er the well-known track. 
For if on Jacob's ravish' d ear 
Her voice had fell like music clear ; 
If eye of blue, and golden hair, 
Had stamp' d her as a vision fair, 
He, in his turn, had won at sight 
That laughter-loving maiden bright. 
She who had smiled on all around, 
Now kept her smiles in secret bound, 
Close treasur'd for her lover's eye, 
As morn and night he came to sigh, 
And pour into her willing ear 
The tale of love she joy'd to hear ; 
While Laban saw, with equal joy, 
That Rachel's charms had won the boy : 



170 JACOB, 

But, as he valued Jacob's aid, 
He took his service for the maid. 
For seven long years he made a vow 
To Laban's harsh control to bow, 
And serve upon his kinsman's land, 
As recompense for Rachel's hand 

But now the retribution came — 

And Jacob felt he dared not blame ; 

As he deceived his father's heart, 

So Laban play'd the double part, 

And when the bridal hour came, 

Leah pledged her vows in Rachel's name ; 

Nor gave him Rachel, till agreed 

That seven years more, in word and deed, 

He should be subject to his vow, 

And to her father's mandates bow. 

So Rachel dwelt in Jacob's tent, 
And gentle Leah neglected, spent 
Her days and duties calm and even, 
Her children bloom' d like plants in Eden ; 
For God, who watches from above, 
To grant His people gifts of love, 
Took pity on the slighted wife, 
And bless' d her pure and blameless life, 



JACOB. 171 

By raising up her seed on high — 
A seed whose fame shall never die ; 
While Rachel, who disdain' d to hend 
Her haughty spirit, found her end : 
Wither' d she sank into the tomb, 
Cut short in all her beauty's bloom. 
The wish that made her pine away 
Her useless life from day to day, 
In its completion proved her grave, 
And, when too late, a lesson gave 
Of patience with her lot on earth, — 
She knew not that in giving birth 
To children, which had been her prayer, 
Her first, her last, her only care, 
Now by Jehovah's rightful will, 
Was made the instrument to kill, 
And bore away her trembling breath, 
To rest within the shades of death ! 

While Leah, whose patience, not in vain 
Had reach' d her God, in many a strain 
Of humble and contented praise, 
Now reap'd the blessings of her ways — 
The blessing that will ever fall 
On those contented with their call. 



172 JUDITH. 

TO THE LADY LIONEL DE BOTHSCHILD, 

CD is Utecretr $oem of 

JUDITH 

Is, by permission, most respectfully dedicated, by her 
Ladyship's most grateful and obliged servant, 

JULIA TILT. 

The lights are bright on Judah's towers, 

Her watchfires reach the sky, 
But sad her children pass the hours 

'Till morning light is nigh. 

For while they strive to watch and pray, 
The Assyrian hosts around them lay, 
And vow, before the shadows fly, 
Proud Judah's sons shall surely die. 
No Hezekiah's prayers are near, 
To reach Jehovah's listening ear, 
That mighty force may not again 
Untouch' d by mortal hand be slain. 
The elders cast a pitying eye 
On many a youthful mother nigh, 
On many a maid whose golden hair 
Fell streaming o'er her forehead fair, 



173 



And thought that, ere the morrow's light, 
Each gentle form must rest in night ! 
All in that leaguer' d city felt 
Their hopes like ice in sunbeams melt, 
Save one whose firm resolve was made, 
Its sacred walls to shield and aid. 
Untouch' d, unscath'd, she vow'd to go, 
And meet her people's bitterest foe ; 
To while him by her grace and charms, 
A.nd when she'd won him to her arms, 
That instant draw the glittering knife, 
And end the proud Assyrian's life. 

And who on Judith's face could gaze, 
Nor feel how bright her beauties blaze ? 
Hers was the deep and thoughtful eye, 
The glance that ne'er could fade or die, 
But left its impress on the heart, 
As if it would a charm impart, 
To last though years pursued their course, 
But ne'er to lose its fire or force ; 
Fix'd like a spell upon the brain, 
That come what would is still the same. 
She stood upon that council night, 
As if inspir'd by visions bright, 



174 



Bidding them pray from hour to hour, 

And post a watchguard on the tower, 

Nor fear, for God inspired her arm, 

His power would shield her feet from harm,, 

But be prepared to issue out, 

And put their mortal foe to rout : 

For should the Assyrian's life be given, 

That mighty host might then be riven, 

And fly before her people's arms, 

A victim to their own alarms. 

She went amid the prayers and tears 

Of youthful maids and aged seers, 

She pass'd the towers without alarm, 

Her beauty shed a magic charm — 

While those who saw her winding down, 

To reach the camp that lay around, 

Watch' d the soft shadow of her veil, 

Ghttering amid the moonlight pale ; 

Blest in their hearts the purpose high, 

That could go forth alone to die, 

For should she fail, an instant death, 

Or worse, might seize her trembling breath. 

And Judith went, and how she sped, 
In book of sacred writ is read : 



175 



How she obtain' d her purpose high, 

And saw the mighty army fly, 

Who but the day before had vow'd 

Her city should in dust be bow'd. 

Now flew before her people's force 

Assyria's pride, both man and horse ; 

Sunk vanquish' d on the battle plain, 

Without the power to rise again. 

Yes ! Judith, when the sacred book 

We turn and to thy story look, 

Though many an age has felt decay, 

Thy nation's glory swept away, 

Thine still remains untouch' d, unbroke, 

As if but yesterday the stroke 

Had laid the fell invader low, 

And freed thy people by the blow. 

So when we have some end in view, 

Some purpose holy, bold and true, 

We'll think of thee, whose woman's heart 

Yet nobly strove to do its part ; 

Nor shrink, though stern the duty lies, 

And clouds of doubt before us rise ; 

But persevere, and bear in mind 

That Judith's God we still can find. 



176 



Thy virtues rouse our childhood's powers, 

They cheer us in our age ; 
And oft are spent our happiest hours 

Upon that sacred page. 

That book of love whose leaves contain 

Our duties plain and clear ; 
Without which life would be in vain, 

And nought have power to cheer, 

Then Judith, when we turn to read 

The story of thy cares, 
We'll pray our God, in hour of need 

May grant, like thee, our prayers. 



J. BILLING, PRINTER, WOKING, SURREY. 



